


to the stars and back

by ashkazora, RosieClark



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - The Dragon Prince, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fantasy, Mage!Lance, Magic, inspired by tdp, moonshadow elf!Pidge, slowburn, two bros travelling around xadia five feet apart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23814790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashkazora/pseuds/ashkazora, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieClark/pseuds/RosieClark
Summary: Embarking on a quest with a girl he had sworn to loath for all eternity was not how Lance saw his evening going, but then again, nothing normal ever happened in Katolis.-The story of an ordinary step-prince and his journey around the lands of Xadia with Pidge, the definitely not cute assassin who totally wasn't trying to kill him
Relationships: Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt, Lance/Pidge | Katie Holt
Comments: 18
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! My name is Ashka, and I'm here with Rosie today to give you our very first collaboration with each other, 'to the stars and back' !!
> 
> There will be thirteen chapters in total, all of which have been planned out already. Rosie will be writing Pidge's POV, while I'll be writing Lance's. While this chapter has both POVs, in the future each chapter will be alternating in the points of view.
> 
> While this fic is inspired by The Dragon Prince, the plot is quite different. We do hope that you'll like it. You don't have to have watched TDP on Netflix to read this, but the prior knowledge will make the reading experience easier (also it's a great series please watch it).
> 
> Anyways, we hope that you enjoy!

**༄༅**

_His blood pounds in his ears, his muscles aching, protesting against every movement he makes but he grits his teeth and goes faster. Pushes harder._

Please, _he silently begs to anyone listening,_ please be alive. 

** ༄༅ **

_Thwack!_

Tumbling head over heels, a lithe body launches a few feet in the air and lands on the dusty ground in a tangled mess of limbs. A groan escaped the heap, its owner blinking up at the sky with startling sea-blue eyes, dazed and semi-annoyed. 

“ _Really?_ Did you have to hit me _that_ hard?” He says, turning his head to stare at a figure in front of him. Their body towers over him in both muscle mass and height, casting an imposing shadow over him. The figure offers their hand, to which the boy accepts reluctantly. Pulling himself up, he dusts dirt particles off of his white linen tunic and pouts at the muddy stains now lining some of the seams.

“You should know how to avoid that move, Lance. We’ve been practising for _years_.”

Lance grumbles in annoyance, tilting his chin up to meet gunmetal grey eyes. 

“Well I’m sor _ry_ Shiro, but not everyone can be as naturally talented as you when it comes to sword fighting. Who do you think I am, _a knight_?” 

The figure- Shiro, frowns at the smaller boy, his eyes darting towards the wooden practise sword that Lance had dropped after his fall. “You’re the prince, Lance. You need to know this.”

_Ha, ‘prince.’_ Sometimes, Lance feels anything but. 

Once upon a time, when his mother ruled over the human lands of Katolis and before his father abandoned him, he might have been respected in that title, but not anymore. He was an only child, his father leaving the queen before his birth, and for a long time, it was just him and his mother against the world. His mother may have had the burden of ruling the human side of Xadia, but Lance had still been smothered in her affections and love. Then, eleven deca-phoebs ago, Queen McClain re-married to noble Lord Garrett, and suddenly Lance had a step-father who was never more than indifferent to him and was forced to share his mother’s love. The only good thing that came out of the royal marriage was his awesome older step-brother, Hunk, and a renewed spark in his mother’s eyes that he hadn’t seen before.

Yet good times could never last. Barely two years into the marriage and at the tender age of nine, a Moonshadow Elf attack on the castle took the life of Queen McClain. 

No words could describe how broken Lance had felt when he got the news. No longer did he have anyone that was truly _his_ family in every way of the word. Sure, he still had a step-father who barely spared him a passing glance, and a step-brother who was the best sibling he could ever ask for, but it wasn’t the same. 

Now, only a few days past the age of eighteen, Lance McClain, is _technically_ a prince, yet it’s Hunk who is in line for the throne. 

But hey, that doesn’t bother him! Leading a whole _quiznaking_ country isn’t something he ever wanted to do. Still, Lance wishes that just once, he could be known for something more than the dead queen’s son, or the scrawny step-prince.

Lance looks down at his feet, a faint blush spreading across his tanned, freckled cheeks. It was no secret that he isn’t the greatest fighter by any means. He still hasn’t fully grown into his gangly limbs yet, nor did he possess the sturdy finesse needed for the art of sword fighting.

Shiro places a hand on his shoulder, a motion meant to be reassuring but only makes Lance feel even worse. Disappointing Shiro always felt like disappointing your dad (or something. Lance never feels like that when he gets on King Garrett’s bad side).

“You’ll get it one day. All you need to do is practise.” The knight promises, his voice is cool and collected as always, soothing in a familiar way.

Lance snorts, not believing Shiro’s words. Stars, he wishes he could be as good as the knight at fighting. Combat, particularly sword fighting, is always praised in Katolis, while the things Lance is actually proficient in (drawing, climbing down the castle to sneak out and steal jelly tarts, and textiles) were not sightly for someone or his calibre. 

“Doubt it,” Lance says, the words bitter on his tongue, “I’ll never get it right. Besides, you know I’m a better archer.”

And a better archer he was. Human nobility often turned their cheeks towards long-ranged fighting, especially archery, though Lance found that despite his next-to-nothing training with bows, the motions came naturally to him. Of course, King Garett would never let him have one. Never would he let his steps-son learn a _‘coward’s’_ weapon. Too bad the King couldn’t see the bow stashed underneath Lance’s bed.

Shiro looks like he was going to say more, but Lance isn’t having it. 

“ _Whatever_ , I’m done.” Lance huffs, turning his back to his mentor. “It’s almost sundown anyways. I’m tired.”

Shiro doesn’t say anything. Lance goes to walk away but stops as a metal hand is placed on his shoulder. He turns around, and sees Shiro yet again looking down at him, this time with a small smile on his face. 

“You did well, Lance.” the knight says, his voice softer than the step-prince had ever heard before. “I’m proud of you.”

Lance can’t fight the furious blush that spreads across his cheeks. Even if Shiro said it out of sympathy, Lance would do anything to get the knight’s praise. Impressing him meant a lot to the step-prince.

“Thanks, Shiro,” he says, lowering his eyes to avoid looking at the older man. “See ya tomorrow.” 

Lance rushes off, hearing a loud reply of _‘see you tomorrow!’_ as he runs inside the castle. _Ugh_ , sword fighting always took so much energy out of him. All he wanted to do was have a nice long shower and sleep. But when he got to his room after managing to avoid most of the castle staff (none of them had high opinions of him due to antics and various pranks over the years), the step-prince couldn’t find the strength to do anything other than sleep. 

Lance strips down until the only thing he wears is dirtied socks and a pair of boxers and jumps onto his bed with great vigour, not bothering to shower, get changed, or even do one of his nightly sketches. He was too mentally drained to do anything other than sleep. Resting allows him to think back, to daydream, about a life where he isn’t so much of a scrawny screwup with no real princely qualities, a life where his mother is still alive and father never left him. 

_One day_ , his mind darts to his father, _I’ll find him_. Whether in good faith or not, Lance doesn’t know. If he could even locate him after eighteen years of abandonment, what would he say? _‘Oh hey, you left me as a baby and gave me major daddy issues?’_ God, he was pathetic sometimes. 

Lance stuffs his face into his silken blue pillow, groaning in the hopes that his thoughts would take a lighter turn. 

Lying on his bed, the lack of motion does nothing to quell the white noise at the back of his head. While the calming sounds of the outside breeze lulled him into a more tired state, Lance’s body simply refused to fall asleep. It was as if _something_ was stopping him, telling his body to stay awake and alert. 

_Screw it_. Huffing, Lance throws his blankets off of him and slowly rolls out of bed, the cold night air biting at his skin. Slipping on his blue lion slippers and fluffy royal blue-and-yellow robe, the step-prince slowly makes his way to his bedroom door and twists the handle, wincing when it squeaks.

“Why am I not surprised?” A voice calls from the hallway. 

Lance yells in shock, jumping a couple inches in the air. 

_“Hunk!_ What are you doing awake? It’s like midnight.”

Hunk raises a brow. “What are _you_ doing awake?” He counters, not suspicious but not dismissive.

Sheepishly, Lance smiles and rubs the back of his neck guiltily. “I, uh, don’t know. Couldn’t sleep.”

As his eyes adjust to the darkness of the hallways, the step-prince sees Hunk wearing the same robe and slippers as him, just in a yellow and orange colour scheme. The warm hues make Hunk look regal, strong and worthy to be the future king _(-once upon a time, Lance was the future king, not his step-brother. But he couldn’t let himself hold any grudges)._

Hunk nods in understanding. “Yeah, I could tell.” Lance shoots him an incredulous expression, to which his step-brother shrugs. “Every time you sneak out, you get this antsy look on your face like a day before.”

Lance groans. _Of course, Hunk would pick up on his nighttime habits._

“I’m in the mood for a jelly tart. Sue me.”

Hunk snorts derisively, without any hint of malice. He wears an expression that doesn't seem like he believes Lance, yet holds his tongue and doesn’t push. 

“Well come on then, let’s raid the kitchens!” Hunk’s cheery tone invigorates Lance with a new dose of energy. The two step-brothers share a mischievous grin with each other, before dashing off as quietly as they could towards the kitchens. 

Midnight escapades with Hunk were the only things Lance looks forward to these days. Without any real friends outside of his step-brother, permission to pursue the art of archery, or ability to leave the castle, life as a prince was honestly quite boring. He and Hunk used to spend so much more time together before King Garett started placing more and more duties on Hunk (and unsurprisingly none on Lance).

Lance’s strained relationship with his step-father aside, the step-prince revelled in their adventure, savouring the rush of doing something they weren’t supposed to. Adrenaline pumps through his veins.

_Sure,_ he wasn't doing something like slaying a dragon or battling elves at _The_ _Breach_ , but the low-stakes of their nighttime escapades made everything all the more enjoyable. It wasn’t like Lance was doing something _illegal_. Technically.

Well, they were sneaking around in the vents of the castle, but no one would dare arrest the princes. 

_“Shhh_ , quiet down,” Hunk hisses at him as they rounded a corner to the bakery. Lance tries to stifle his childish giggling. “we don’t want to wake up Iverson.”

“Iverson’s a grumpy old _quiznak_ , he wouldn't be awake at this time of night.” the step-prince shoots back in a hushed whisper. 

Crouching down, Lance peers through the grate, staring out at the darkened bakery. It was completely bare, save for rows of cooling trays and lines of delicious jelly tarts placed on top. From his lower angle Lance struggles to see what flavour they were, but judging from the saccharine fumes filling the room they must be some sort of jelly, probably strawberry.

“Coast is clear,” Lance says, assessing his surroundings, “and there are enough jelly tarts for us to take some without him noticing.”

Hunk raises an eyebrow. “How do you know? It’s too dark for me to see anything.”

Shrugging, Lance turns to his brother. “Your eyesight must be terrible, bro.”

They both snort, knowing full well that Hunk’s sight wasn’t the greatest compared to Lance’s. It’s the reason why the step-prince was good at archery or even hide-and-seek. 

“You ready?” Hunk murmurs.

“As I’ll ever be,” Lance replies back.

Sharing a mischievous grin, the two princes didn’t have to say anything to each other to know their plan. In a swift motion, Hunk pries the grate off of the vent, sliding it to the side carefully so that no noise was made. Quickly, they both launch out of their hiding place. Lance runs over to the trays, gesturing for Hunk to come closer.

“Hurry! Take some before Iverson notices!” 

They both stuff their pockets and hands full of the tarts, uncaring if any jelly got on their silken robes. In their frenzied grabs, neither Lance nor Hunk were fully aware of their surroundings.

_Thump._

Lance drops the jelly tart he was holding. _Uh oh._

Turning around to stare at his brother, he sees that Hunk wore the same panicked expression he did. Before they could say anything, however, a door opens right in front of them, revealing a large man shadowed by light filtering from behind.

“It’s Iverson! _Run!”_ Yelling, Hunk dashes towards the back door, yanking it open. 

Ignoring the shouts of _‘come back here!’_ Lance turns around and races after his brother. Iverson, the great oaf, had longer strides than both of them, and Lance feels fear of being caught trickle up his spine. Thinking quickly, the step-prince digs a jelly tart out of his pocket and throws it as hard as he could at the man. As he and Hunk run out the door, the sight of Iverson’s enraged face covered in streaks of crimson jelly is burned into their memories.

Elation bubbles through his blood, the euphoria of brotherly shenanigans makes Lance feel warm and fuzzy inside. His tepid emotions counter the frigid zephyr that blows across the castle courtyard.

Running across the castle wall, Lance and Hunk laugh quietly amongst themselves, pockets full of delicious goods and hands sticky with strawberry jam. 

“Did you see his face?” Hunk chokes out between bouts of laughter.

Lance grins, breathing heavily from the run. “You bet I did! He’s gonna be so pissed in the morning.” 

The two step-brothers stop running for a second, looking each other right in the eyes, and begin another fresh wave of giggling between them. 

“We are so f—” Hunk starts to say, but stops suddenly mid-sentence, dropping all of the jelly tarts he was carrying. His chocolate-brown eyes widen, and Lance feels a chill radiate throughout his skin.

“Hunk? Buddy? What’s wrong?” 

Hunk points to a section of the castle wall, finger shaking in terror. 

In the middle of the castle wall, two figures lay prone on the ground, unmoving. He can’t see their faces, but they wore the armour of the King’s royal guard. Next to them, their swords are fallen by their sides, moonlight reflecting off of the polished edges. Lance’s eyes travel from the fallen bodies to the swords to the wall next to them, where the soft silhouette of _something_ knelt, crouched down and seemingly ready for action. 

_Quiznak…_

Fear fizzes up Lance’s throat. As the clouds outside slowly uncover the moon, the soft light reflecting off of the intruder’s figure, illuminating alabaster-white horns and two deadly, curved elven blades. 

_A Moonshadow elf!_

** ༄༅ **

  
Looking into her pack, she mentally checks off each of her items one last time, determined not to forget anything. As a Moonshadow elf, she’s been training for missions like these all her life, she was practically born with her weapons in her hands. Still, something in her gut clenches at the thought of what she’s about to do. 

As a young child, she had played pranks, stayed out past curfew and had fun. But never before had she broken the village rules, gone against the elders like this. By going through with this mission, she was facing possible expulsion from the camp, but if it all worked out, it would be worth it. 

A shadow blocks the moonlight coming in from her doorway, and one hand comes up to rest on the hilt of her blade.

“Calm down,” a familiar voice speaks up, “no need to start a fight.” 

She relaxes, tying up her pack and slinging it over her shoulder. 

“I’m still against this you know,” he says, not leaving his position in the doorway of her hut, “You shouldn’t go alone.”

“I know,” she sighs, turning to face her oldest friend, “but we agreed it's something I need to do.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He steps inside. “I can’t help it. I promised Matt—” 

“He’s not here right now.” she snaps, immediately looking apologetically at her friend. “I’m sorry, I know you promised to keep me safe but I’m doing this to get him back. He’s not dead.” _He can’t be._ Her fingers come up to play with the locket around her neck—the last gift from her brother. 

Two months ago, her brother was part of a squadron tasked with gathering information on the Druids, a group of dark mages. Worried about their growing strength and numbers, the elders had sent the small group to Katolis. 

They never came back.

The crystal flowers representing the life forces of everyone on the team had sunk to the bottom of the pool, indicating their deaths. Their village mourned for a month, but Katie knew better. 

Matt was still alive, she could feel it. The constant tug in her blood that bonded her to her brother. If he’d died it would have gone slack, but she could still feel him. Forged by her parents when they were young, she was connected to her brother and would remain that way until one of them died. Everyone in the village had flashed her looks of sympathy, calling her delusional behind her back. 

“I believe you.” 

She looks up into Keith's unwavering violet eyes. “You do?” 

The Moonshadow elf nods, a small grin spreading on his face. “It takes more than a few humans to get rid of Matt. There’s no way he’s dead.” 

She lets out a sigh of relief before throwing her arms around his waist. No matter what she could always count on Keith to have her back. “Thank you.” 

His arms wrap around her, and she tries not to think that this could be the last time they’d ever hug. “Be safe,” he whispers into her hair. “I mean it.” 

“Always.” Her hands grip his jacket. 

“You know where to go?” he asks as they pull away. 

She smiles. “Straight through the mountains and over the hills.” He gives her an unimpressed look, and she rolls her eyes. “Relax. The way to Katolis is a piece of cake.” 

His face tells her he doesn't believe her, but he just sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. “Okay.” 

“Well,” she clears her throat. “I’ll be off then.” 

Keith nods solemnly, kissing his two fingers before pressing them to his brow—the Moonshadow sign of respect. “Come back home.” 

Her heart throbs, and she doesn’t bother telling him what they both know—that after tonight this wouldn’t be her home. Instead, she smiles gratefully, before turning her back on her village, her hut, and everything she’s ever known. 

-

Every muscle in her body aches, but she grits her teeth and goes faster, the full moon in the sky lending her strength. She’s suddenly thankful she chose to pack light, not sure if she would have finished the journey with a heavier pack.

She speeds as she approaches the towering outer castle wall, whipping out her hooked knives and flinging herself through the air, blades digging into the stone. 

Fighting against exhaustion, she hauls herself up, one agonizing inch at a time. Although she has the technique and intelligence of a good Moonshadow elf, she is sorely lacking in the strength department. 

_Almost there,_ she tells herself, _almost there._

Time seems to stop as she hangs from the wall, her arms threatening to give out at any moment. Her breath comes out in laboured pants, and she feels her grip beginning to slip. Summoning her remaining strength, she plants her feet on the face of the wall and pushes up, swinging one blade out to catch the edge of the stone building. One final pull and she’s over the top, sprawled out on the cool floor, trying to catch her breath. 

The sound of approaching footsteps brings her to her feet. 

“Halt!” a voice cries. “In the name of the king!” 

_He’s no king of mine_ , she thinks, before turning and lunging forward, striking the pair of men down with deadly efficiency. She drags the bodies to the side of the wall, partially hidden in the shadows. She’s about to rob one of his uniforms when the chatter of voices draws her attention, and she leaps into the air, landing without a sound on a watchtower. 

Gafas of laughter echoes into the quiet night as two figures approach. She narrows her eyes, watching them munch on pastry. The entire scene seemed out of place — too happy — considering the bodies hidden in the shadows a few feet away. With some luck, the two would pass right by and she could continue undetected. 

“You bet I did! He’s gonna be so pissed in the morning.” the lanky, dark-skinned one says, sending the pair back into hysterics. 

_Not guards,_ she notes, taking in the fine finishings on their sleepwear. _Princes._

“We are so f—” the larger man trails off, his eyes focusing on something. 

“Hunk? Buddy? What’s wrong?”

Pidge tunes out the rest of the conversation, following the gaze of the larger man, and chastising herself when she sees the glint of a fallen sword. How had she been so careless? She watches as the princes' stop, their eyes going from the sword to the bodies in the shadows, trailing up the wall to land on her. 

_Oh well,_ she thinks bitterly. _So much for remaining unnoticed._

They barely have time to look surprised before she is upon them, the larger one in her grip a knife to his throat. 

** ༄༅ **

“Hunk!”

Lance’s shout is shrill and would’ve been loud enough to alert the guards had they not been incapacitated. 

Before he had time to react, the Moonshadow elf had rushed forward, turning his step-brother around and placed one of her wicked sharp blades to his throat. While the assassin was barely tall enough to reach his neck, the curved edge of her blade more than made up for the distance. Lance feels a bolt of terror shoot down his spine. 

Hunk whimpers in fear, eyeing the curved Moonshadow blade underneath his neck. Dread bubbles up in Lance’s throat. He couldn’t do anything to stop the elf. He didn’t have his bow or any other weapons, and the only people who could help him were lying on the floor, unconscious. He had to do something to stop Hunk from becoming a human meat skewer. 

_Okay Lance, play it cool._

“Fair gentleman, would you be so kind and move your swords aside?”

_Smooth as sandpaper_.

A shocked, almost offended expression dawns on the Moonshadow elf’s face. Lance could almost feel their mood sour. In front of her, Hunk shoots him an exasperated glare. 

_“Bro, you just don’t help.”_ Hunk whispers underneath his breath, delving into more mutterings. _“I don’t think calling an assassin a_ fair gentleman _a good idea when she has her blade to my throat.”_

_Oh._

_OH._

Now that he looked closely, Lance realised that perhaps the Moonshadow elf wasn’t a man at all. The subtle curve of their hips, the more rounded cheekbones, all added up.

Lance would have given his step-brother the good old one-fingered salute if the situation wasn’t as dire. 

“If you know what’s best for you, _boy,”_ the assassin snarls, her knuckles whitening as she grips her blades harder. Lance gulps. “You’ll forget you ever saw me.”

Lance almost scoffs at the assassin’s words. “Coming from the person who’s shorter than most kids, I doubt you could call me a _boy.”_

Hunk raises his hand and hits his palm against his forehead. The Moonshadow elf allows it. 

“Look,” Lance tries, holding his arms out in front of him with palms facing outwards. “Just let him go, and we’ll help you with whatever you need.” 

Her eyes narrow. “And if my mission is to kill the princes?” 

Lance freezes. “Then we’d already be dead.” He says, slowly.

She pauses for a moment, her blade glinting in the moonlight before her grip relaxes and Hunk stumbles forward. Lance let out a breath, looking his brother up and down to make sure he wasn’t injured. Thankfully, not a single cut was visible on Hunk’s dark tanned skin.

“I need information.” 

That was not what he was expecting. “On what?” 

She sheaths her swords, wiping her palms on her suit. “A human witch. She calls herself Honerva. I’m looking for something important, and the only lead I have is her.” 

Hunk perks up behind him. “I know that name. Dad used to tell me stories about her.” His brows furrow slightly. “But she left the castle years ago, out of the blue just disappeared.” 

Lance’s features brighten up as recognition burns through his mind. He did know that name! 

“Yeah,” Lance chimes in, “Honerva used to be the Royal Mage!” Then as an afterthought, he adds, “dunno why she left, though.”

Something in her expression shifts; her lips parted slightly, and she lets out a long breath. The rigid tension in her muscles slowly eases up, as if she finally let go of something she’d been holding onto for a while. The tragic slant of her eyebrows told Lance how disappointed she really is. 

_“Oh,”_ she said. The assassin’s eyes drop to the ground, and Lance could see a glassy sheen built up in her brilliantly-hazel eyes. 

Lance couldn’t take her pain; he was a sucker for cute girls (even if they had just tried to kill his step-brother), and something about her expression made him want to go over and comfort her. Something inside of Lance compelled him to follow her, even if she was an _elf._

_But that was the problem, wasn’t it?_ She’s an elf. _A Moonshadow elf._ Etched into Lance’s bones, forged in his blood, is the knowledge that elves do nothing but _destroy_ humans, take their lifeblood and homes and leave them to rot underneath the full moon. He could almost feel the dead wisps of his mother, slain by the very same race threatening him right now, whispering in his ear, telling him not to trust non-humans. He _can’t_ trust her, yet there was still an urge, an impulse, to go and comfort the girl who would have killed him a few minutes ago. 

Maybe the fates had something planned for them. As Lance takes a step forward, he prays that they do.

“Please don’t kill me, ma’am, but do you mind if I speak to my brother for a minute?”

The girl nods mutely, turning her head away so that the princes’ couldn’t see her eyes. Lance sneaks up to Hunk, pulling him away from the elf so that she can’t hear their conversation.

“Bro…” 

Hunk’s expression softens once he realizes he wasn’t in slicing distance from the girl’s swords. “Lance, I think we should help her out.”

“But she’s an elf! We can’t trust her!” Lance bites out, his words as cutting as he could without raising his voice above a whisper. In a softer tone, he murmurs, “you know why we can’t trust them.”

Hunk shakes his head sadly, placing a warm hand on Lance’s shoulder. “I…” his breath stutters in his lungs, “If you had the chance to find your mother again, would you?” 

Lance shoots his step-brother a betrayed glare. “It’s not the same!” 

“Fine then, what about me? What would you do if I went missing?” 

Hunk sounded completely serious, so much so that Lance knew he shouldn’t answer with his go-to jokes. “I- I would do _anything_. You’re my family, Hunk, I couldn’t leave you.” And Lance knows that was a complete truth. They may not be blood brothers, but their bond was thicker than the water of the womb. In every way except for their heritage, they were kin. “Though, what does that have to do with— _oh.”_

The realisation dawns on Lance, albeit belatedly. The elf isn’t trying to cause a war, not trying to hurt any innocent humans. She’s just looking for something. Suddenly, pity for the girl courses through Lance’s veins, shocking him with how many _emotions_ he felt towards her.

Hunk nods. “She said she’s looking for something important. For all we know it could be a person, or a priceless object.” 

“Or her favourite pair of socks…” Lance trails off at his brother's glare. “...fine.” He relents. “But I’m keeping a close eye on her!” 

The way Hunk stares at him with his ever-scrutinous gaze, like he was examining Lance’s very soul, made him feel uncomfortable. 

“I know you will,” Hunk says sombrely before a cheshire grin spread lazily across his face, “she is a cute girl, after all, even if you didn’t see it a first.”

Lance gasps in mock-outrage. 

_“Hunk!”_ He wacks his hand across Hunk’s shoulder, not hard enough to cause any real damage, but just enough force for a sharp _‘thwack_ ’ to be heard. Hunk simply grins with a knowing glint in his eye.

“Back to business, how are we going to find information on Honerva?”

Humming, Lance rubs his chin in thought. “Didn’t Honerva have some sort of workshop in the castle? Maybe there’ll be something in there.”

Hunk beams. “Bro, you’re a genius!” Lance preens at the compliment. “We can sneak into the castle with her, explore Honerva’s workshop, and then she’ll be on her merry way!”

“Nuh uh, _no way_ are we letting her inside the castle!” 

Normally, Lance would stand his ground, but Hunk looked like he was having none of his brother’s antics tonight. 

“You do realise I can hear you two idiots talking, right?”

From behind them, an accented voice cuts through their conversation. The princes jumped up, turning to her with matching sets of guilty expressions. Lance could see that despite the brave face the assassin put on, her eyes were red and cheeks slightly damp. 

“Well then, Miss Moonshadow elf. Today is your lucky day because Hunk and I will be escorting you into Honerva’s workshop!” he says brightly, flashing a dazzling smile at the unimpressed elf. “My name is Lance! And you are?”

The girl hesitated as if she didn’t want to answer. A flock of birds flew overhead, temporarily covering the bright moonlight. After a pregnant pause, she sighs. 

“ _Pidge._ My name is Pidge.”

“Well then, Pidge,” Lance grins, “I’m sure you’re okay with a little breaking and entering?”

And for the first time since she had come into their lives, Pidge lets out a small, hesitant smile. 

** ༄༅ **

Katie has no idea what possessed her to trust the human princes, but somehow she wasn’t regretting it. At least she had had the foresight to give them a fake name, one her brother used to call her. She rubs her temples, trying to figure out how she’d gotten in this mess. 

The taller one, Lance as he’d introduced himself, led her through the corridors of the castle, occasionally whisper-yelling at her to hide when a guard passed. The other one, Hunk, seemed more curious than his brother, asking her questions about her life. 

“So what are you looking for?” 

She grimaces. The one question she was not willing to answer. “A clue,” she settles on, giving him a small smile. The humans seemed to react better when she smiled. 

Hunk gives this some thought. “Like a quest?” 

“Yeah, sort of. Hopefully whatever I find here will lead me to the treasure.” 

“We’re here,” Lance announces, and Katie looks up. They’ve stopped in front of a giant portrait. He grabs hold of the picture frame, tugging at it gently causing the whole painting to swing outwards, revealing a dark tunnel. 

“Bro, how do you even know about this?” Hunk asks, his mouth agape. Lance just shrugs. 

“A man gets bored every once and awhile.” 

One by one they step into the hole, the painting falling back into place behind them, leaving them in complete darkness. Sighing, Katie pulls out her swords, still glowing from the mooncharge earlier. The princes look at them, their eyes wide. 

“So cool,” Hunk whispers, and she preens slightly. 

“Yeah,” Lance murmurs, before pointing onwards. “Lead the way _m’lady.”_ His words were elegant yet how he said them makes Katie want to punch him in the face.

She shoves past him, and they walk in silence until the narrow corridor opens out into a larger chamber, lined with bookshelves. A desk sat in one corner, and it didn’t take long for Katie to realize everything was covered in dust and cobwebs. Behind her, Hunk had found a match and a touch, holding it up to light up the rest of the room. 

“Yikes,” he says, walking around lighting the rest of the torches that surround the room. “No one has been here in ages.” 

She nods grimly, sheathing her swords and beginning her search. Anything that gives her a clue to where Matt is. She flips through books and journals, turns over every knick-knack, even looks on the floor and ceiling for a hidden room. Nothing. 

Katie runs a hand through her hair in frustration, biting back a growl. She hadn’t come all this way for nothing. She was not leaving empty-handed. 

“Hey look at this” Lance calls, laughing. “I’m a powerful mage!” 

Katie turns to see him hold up a large wooden staff, a glowing purple orb on one end. Just the sight ends a shiver down her spine.

“Impossible,” she gasps, backing up slightly. “that’s not possible.” 

“Well yeah,” Lance says with a hesitant smile, “that’s what impossible means.” 

She shoots him a glare. “I know what _impossible_ means. It’s just _that_ ,” she gestures at the staff, “should not be here.”

“Okay,” Hunk says tentatively, also taking a step back, “I’m getting the sense that the staff is evil. Lance, you should put it down.” 

Katie nods in confirmation. She’d only seen pictures in the old books her father had, but she’d know that staff anywhere. “It belongs to a dark witch, Haggar. She's been banished to a tower in Xadia for an eternity, but this seems to say otherwise.” 

“So our castle mage is actually an evil witch?” Lance says slowly, before putting the staff down. “Huh.”

“She’s supposed to be trapped, but it looks like she got out for a decade or two to work for your kingdom,” Katie theorizes, worry building inside her gut. If Haggar truly was Honerva, then Matt was in more trouble then she thought. Her fists clench at her sides. Lance seems to sense her unease. 

“Hey, what's the big deal? We discovered Honerva and Haggar are the same person! That makes your quest easier, right?” 

“Well, yes and no.” She slumps to the floor, clinging onto the shared bond she had with her brother. The one that would have gone slack if he’d died. “It’s great because I know exactly where Haggar is,” she admits, staring at her hands. She chooses her next words carefully. “But it also means what I’m looking for might not be in the best condition when I get there.” 

“And what are you looking for?” Lance asks, his arms crossed. “I think we deserve to know.” 

They had helped her, she reminds herself before taking a deep breath. “My brother. He’s missing, presumed dead. All I know is before he disappeared, he went looking for Honerva.” 

“Who we now know is Haggar,” Hunk gasps, taking it all in. 

“A really evil dark mage.” Lance finishes. 

The brothers exchange a look, before turning back to her. 

“Well, it's settled!” Lance proclaims. 

Katie raises a brow. “What is?” 

“We’re going to help you find your brother!” 

“And why would you do that?” 

“Because, if there's anyone who understands the love siblings have for each other, it's us,” Hunk explains. “and besides, don’t you think three people are better than one?” 

“You’ll only slow me down,” She argues, standing firm. 

“That may be so,” Lance cuts in, “but if you don’t bring us along willingly, we’ll just trample loudly behind you alerting everyone to your presence.” 

Hunk nods enthusiastically, and Katie sighs, giving in. To take down Haggar she was going to need the element of surprise, and with two noisy princes following her, that was not going to happen. 

The boys smile ear to ear. “Great!” Hunk says cheerily. “Let's grab some supplies and then head off!”

-

Apparently ‘grabbing supplies’ took the majority of an hour—mainly due to Lance not being able to decide what facial creams to bring, so by the time they were finally outside the castle wall, ready to go, the run was already rising.

“Ah adventure,” Lance breathes in deeply, “the best way to start the morning.” 

Katie just glares at him, itching to get on the road. The sooner they get going the sooner they get to Matt. 

Just as they’re about to depart, Hunk finally managed to strap on his bag comfortably, the gates to the castle wall open up. 

“Hide!” Lance whispers to Katie and she jumps into a nearby tree without a second thought. A moment later, a messenger runs out, bowing deeply as he stops in front of the princes. 

“What is it?” Hunk asks, impatience lacing his tone. 

“The King is dead.” the messenger says, his voice thick with sadness. There is a moment of gut-wrenching silence and Katie takes a deep breath. The servant stands awkwardly, shuffling from foot to foot as the prince's process the news. Hunk’s shoulders begin shaking and Lance wraps an arm around his brother before turning to the servant. 

“Thank you, can you give us some space?” 

The messenger nods before bowing and retreating back into the castle walls. Both of Lance's arms come up to wrap around Hunk, his brother returning the favour as they take comfort in each other. Katie’s heart aches for them, it really does. She knows first hand the pain of losing a parent. 

“I have to stay,” Hunk says quietly after a while, and Lance pulls back to study him. 

“Alright. We can head back to the castle now and—” 

“No Lance, _I_ have to stay. Not you.” 

Lance looks hurt at this, his eyebrows pinching together. “But—” 

“I was made for this kinda stuff, _kingly_ stuff. You’re not meant for that, we both know how much you hate sitting still. You were born to go on an adventure, to go see the world. It’s in your blood.” Katie drops down behind them, making eye contact with Hunk who she gives a small smile. He’s already unslinging his pack and strapping it onto Lance. “So go. Have your adventure. I’ll be here when you get back.” 

“Hunk—” 

“Go.” Hunk embraces Lance in an emotional bear-hug, completely covering the skinner boy, then shoves his brother towards her with surprising strength. “I’ll be waiting.” 

She watches as Hunk makes his way back into the castle, Lance’s eyes following him until he disappears from sight. Katie clears her throat. 

“So, are you ready?” 

He turns to her and she’s surprised to see tears in his eyes. He wipes them away quickly. “As I’ll ever be.” 

“Then let’s go.” 

Casting one last glance at the dark-skinned prince, Katie turns forward, wondering if this is the stupidest or best decision of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alt. title: take a shot every time Lance/Hunk calls each other 'bro'


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sapphire eyes flickering over the delineated figures, Lance furrows his brows as he reads over the foreign text. On that particular cranked page, descriptions of a spell are softly inscribed into the paper, as well as the motions to do them. The symbol looks like some sort of starburst; he can’t help himself from sounding the incantation out loud. 
> 
> “Sid… _sidus lukat? Sidus luceat?” _The words feel strange on his tongue. “What does that mean?”__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Hello.
> 
> It's Ashka here. Sorry this is so late! Hopefully this almost 12k chapter makes up for my absence. You guys probably won't get something this long again but eh, who knows. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the warm welcome on the last chapter. It was great to see such nice comments! All of your feedback really fuels us to write more. 
> 
> I don't have much to say right now, so let's get right into the chapter!

**༄༅**

_The field seems to stretch on forever. His breath comes out in short gasps, his lungs burning with each breath he takes._

_He can’t give up. Not when they’ve come so far. Not when they’re finally free._

** ༄༅ **

When Lance was younger, his mother would tell him stories about the wonderful adventures she went on.

From the scant, rose-coloured memories he had of her, Queen McClain travelled the lands of the human kingdoms, battling rare monsters in the dark of the night and allying herself with the other kingdoms. She had single-handedly united the kingdoms of Neolandia, Del Bar, Duren, and Evenere with Katolis, all in the name of a shared protection against the elven threat. Before becoming a mother and the queen, she had seen the world.

And she told Lance about every last one of her adventures.

How she sailed the rough seas of Evenere and almost got struck by lightning.

How she almost got barred from every tavern in Duren after drinking them clean. 

How she travelled to the mystical lands of Xadia in search of rare artefacts. 

Queen McClain was a pioneer of freedom, her steps filled with adventure and glory, discovery and fun. 

Let it be known to everyone that so far, Lance’s ‘adventure’ was _nothing_ like that.

** ༄༅ **

It’s barely an hour into their little journey before they start arguing. 

Excitement over the upcoming days soon turned into frustrated ire as Pidge, no matter how much Lance talked, would constantly ignore him. Whenever he would ask the girl where she was from, what her favourite foods were, whether she liked boysenberries or blackberries more, _anything,_ she would only reply with a few short words or undisguised annoyance.

And so they walked together, rather awkwardly if Lance would add. Every so often he’d try and start another conversation, but was usually shut down fairly quickly. Once, the prince tried to touch Pidge’s twin blades, to which his feet were promptly swept from underneath him, as said blades held at his throat with the promise that if he ever touched them again then the blades would make quick work of his entrails.

_Ouch._

As the day went by, Lance found himself getting more and more ragged. Running on no sleep and little food, he lagged further behind Pidge with each passing minute. Lance, who had packed everything he needed, was starting to feel like he was a bit high-maintenance — the bag slung across his back was too heavy and his muscles were killing him. He wasn’t unfit, per se, but the prince had a lot more skills in traversing the castle through secret tunnels to steal jelly tarts rather than the fine arts of endurance (or walking around mindlessly for hours on end). So, sue him if he was feeling a little worn out. 

Unfortunately Pidge, the Moonshadow Elf who had tried to kill him just a few hours prior, was fareing a lot better than he was. Somehow, her stubby little legs could go a lot longer without taking a rest. Which, well, was definitely a blow to Lance’s ego. 

After a while, he’s had enough. 

_“Ugh,”_ flinging his bag down onto the mossy ground, Lance groans dramatically, “can we stop for a bit?”

His question is met by a deadpan expression, Pidge slowly walks forward and lifts his bag up, wincing as its contents weigh down her hand. “How much did you pack?!” She says, her voice flooded with an incredulous undertone. 

Lance scoffs. “Everything I needed! Food, a canteen, my sketchbook and charcoal, jelly tarts, some delicious Neolandian teabags- _ooh!_ Did you know that Neolandia has these beautiful starfruit teas? They’re actually used sometimes in medicine when…” 

He trails off once he sees Pidge’s face twitching. 

“You’re telling me,” she pinches the bridge of her nose between her fingers, “that you packed _quiznaking tea,_ but no weapons?”

Lance has enough shame to feel guilty. “…yes?” 

Pidge snarls, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Not a chance, idiot. Keep moving.”

Wincing, Lance fiddles with his fingers. Of course it wasn’t the first time he’s been called an idiot in his life. Lance is aware that Hunk was leagues ahead of him in intelligence, and that the only thing going for him was his status and title, but the insult still pricks at his skin. Perhaps bringing along a rare human tea wasn’t one of his brightest ideas. 

“But we haven’t had a break all day! I’m _tired.”_ He complains, throwing his head back. 

“Too bad,” Pidge says with absolutely no sympathy in her voice, “we’re not stopping yet.”

A spur of defiance, something red-hot and tepid as coal, burns through his veins. It’s the same sensation that drives him to throw away his sword when training with Shiro becomes too hard, that pushes him to get on King Garret’s nerves even at his or Hunk’s expense. He recognises it like a dear friend.

With a defiant smirk plastered on his face, Lance strides over to a nearby boulder, swagger infused in his gait with every confidant step. Looking straight into Pidge’s soft brown eyes, he climbs on top of the rock, his smile widening as Pidge’s visibly angers.

“If you don’t move your little human legs right now, I swear to the stars you’ll regret it.”

Lance sits on top of the mossy boulder, not moving a muscle. His hair was tousled from a couple hours of monotonous walking through the forests of Katolis. His body is slumped lazily, limbs feeling too much like jelly to move. 

“Can’t we take a second just to chill? I don’t know about you, but this bag weighs a _ton._ ” His whines echo across the clearing, bounding off of the exposed rocks and tree trunks. Pidge grimaces, as if there’s something horribly wrong with even just the thought of struggling with physical activity.

_Unfortunately from him,_ the prince thinks bitterly, _not everyone could be trained assassins._

Pidge frowns. “You know, you could just give me the bag.”

_Yeah, right._ Lance snorts. “Like I could trust _you_ with it.”

He watches as anger flares up in Pidge’s eyes. Somewhere, deep down, he knows that probably wasn’t the nicest thing to say, but at the current moment he doesn’t care. Sore from a day walking and mildly sleep-deprived, his nerves are shorter than ever.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Pidge’s voice takes on a shrill note, and Lance winces as it rings across the clearing.

“All I’m saying is that you’re an assassin - a Moonshadow one. How can I trust you with my personal stuff?” 

It’s almost entertaining to watch Pidge’s face go through a myriad of emotions. First shock, then anger, and finally she settles on cold rage.

“That’s rich,” she says in a low tone, and immediately Lance knows he’s made a mistake, “coming from the race who practises Dark Magic.”

In an instant, Lance suddenly felt the need to defend humans. Sure, he may have felt uneasy around Dark Magic, taking a lot more interest in the elven arcanums during his studies rather than the human-made magics, but insulting a whole race based off of a measly thing as that?! No, Lance couldn’t let that slide. 

He clenches his fist. “Oh yeah? And who drove humans out of their homes for practicing Dark Magic, _huh?”_

Lance watches as Pidge’s face reddens and eyes smoulder like burning embers and crackling fires. The dapple forest light emphasises the shadows in the divots of her clenched jaw. 

“Oh _stars_ , you are an _idiot_.” Pidge’s voice grows louder and louder, until by the end of her sentence, she’s practically screaming. 

“Well at least _I_ don’t go barging into people’s homes and threatening their brother!” He matches her volume, bits of spittle flying from his mouth. She would never know what it was like to watch her brother being threatened right in front of her, while being completely helpless to stop it. The fear and desperation from last night’s _incident_ shoots through him, fuelling his anger.

“Just don’t talk to me!”

“Yeah?! Well, maybe I won’t!” 

“Fine!” Pidge huffs.

“Fine!” Lance yells back, his arms crossed and voice childishly high.

For a pregnant moment, neither moved from their positions. They were at an impasse - whoever moved first would be accepting defeat. Or, at least, that’s how Lance saw it. It was just like Shiro used to tell him, backing down would be considered submission, and there was _no way_ he’d roll over for an _elf_ of all things. 

Almost snarling in anger, the Moonshadow assassin threw her hands up in frustration, stomping past him with great vigour. Lance quickly jogs so that he’s next to her and not behind. 

For the next couple of hours, the two walked in complete silence. Sure, there was the melodious chirping of native finches, or the cool zephyrs weaving through the tree-line, yet neither the human nor the elf said one word to each other.

Within a couple minutes, Lance grew antsy at their vow of silence. Branded into his skin, etched into his genes, was the want of conversation. Back at the castle he was called exuberant, annoying, and was told to shut up more often than not, but he couldn’t stand the silence of the cold stone walls. Not there, not here.

Soon enough, Lance starts whistling. It’s a broken tune, something he has heard the commonfolk sing on one of his many escapades outside of the castle. As he walks, he stares at Pidge from the corners of his eyes. He _knows_ how annoying his whistles can be. 

_C’mon… say something._

But Pidge’s eyes are firmly trained in front of her, and in that moment Lance realises that he can’t goad the elf into breaking their agreement. If his pride didn’t allow him to speak first, well, then, he would have to up the stakes.

And so Lance starts humming. Loudly.

He starts at childhood songs, then goes onto native Katolean melodies. Then when that doesn’t knock Pidge out of her concentration, Lance decides to pull out the big bows. If ninety-nine jugs of mead on the wall could annoy Shiro to the point of a breakdown, then it could certainly eat at Pidge.

He gets to forty-four before Pidge’s ire supersedes her patience.

“Can you shut it, for _one moment?!”_

Lance blinks innocently.

“Shut _what?”_ He replies, his voice sweeter than honey. An angry red flush spreads across Pidge’s face.

“You know what!” Her whole body shakes with annoyance, which would have been scary if not for her height (or lack thereof). “We agreed not to talk, so zip it!”

Eyes widening in faux confusion, Lance pouts at her. “But I wasn’t talking.” He says, knowing full well that his guiltless tone did nothing to fool her.

“You are so— _argh!”_ Pidge screams in frustration. 

“Charming? Devilishly handsome?”

“Idiotic,” she says with a deadpan expression on her face. Lance sputters in response, but before he can respond Pidge shoves past him, her shoulder hitting his torso as she walks by. 

Lance directs a gesture at her back that would have surely earned him a mouth-washing from Queen McClain, before continuing his mind-numbing trek - this time without any annoying songs. He tries carefully not to look at the Moonshadow elf nor meet her eyes, yet somehow every few minutes his gaze would drift to her face.

“…so-”

“Zip it.”

“Yup. Okay.”

** ༄༅ **

He hears the water before he sees it. 

“Are you _sure_ this is the right way?” Lance raises an eyebrow at his elven companion, seriously doubting her navigation skills. 

It’s been a couple more hours since their little… spat, and they pair had not talked once. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Not a peep. But it’s when he hears the sound of rushing water that he decides to break their mutual vows of silence. 

If Lance was correct (and he was 33% sure that he was. Thanks King Garret for forcing him to learn about the geography of the Human Kingdoms!), the main rivers of Katolis were at least two days' travel from the castle if they were heading directly east. 

“Of course it is.” Pidge answers briskly, not leaving any room for discussion. 

Lance tilts his head, looking down at the short girl. Surely she could hear that their forest-song silence was no longer the only sound. 

“All I’m saying is that Xadia is a lot more East of here." 

Pidge scoffs. “What would you know about directions?”

_Damn._ She had a point. He was a prince, a human one. Lance knew of the stereotypes around people like him- lazy, sheltered, unable to do anything for themselves, relying on others for their meals without putting in work - though he frowned at her clear dismissal of his words.

“We are going to Xadia, right?” Pidge looks away, and his heart plummets. _“Right?”_ he repeats, growing worried with each passing second.

“Yes and no..?” Her answer is phrased more like a question than an answer. At Lance’s annoyed expression, she elaborates, “Look, we can’t get into Xadia through the Breach, and there’s too many humans stationed in the south of the Breach, so we have to go the long way.”

Lance groans. “Let me guess, we’re travelling to the north?”

“Yup.” 

_“Great.”_ he could already feel all the walking aching in his bones. Leave him to go on a journey with the most amount of exercise. _Ugh._

As the pair nears a clearing, the sweet stench of riverlillies and morning dew invades Lance’s senses. Coupled with the haziness in the air and a sharp glare from beyond the forest, he feels a sinking sensation in his belly as they walk closer and closer. “So, quick question,” the prince says, his voice slightly squeaky, “how are we going to cross _that?”_

Shooting him a weird look, Pidge frowns. “Cross wha— _oh.”_

Right on cue, they both step out from the treeline, only to be confronted by the sight of rushing river rapids. Jetstreams of energised water shoot down the banks, cleaving the forest clean into two. Jagged rocks poke out from the midsection where the cerulean waters are more stagnant, while furls of alabaster-white foam collect around the spires. About three tree-lengths wide, the river’s tumulus rapids swirl into a sea of unforgiving strength. Lance watches as water crashes against lone rocks, and gulps. A cacophony of white noise buzzes behind his ears.

He shivers in anticipation. As a prince of a kingdom which was landlocked, he had little experience swimming, especially in such harsh rapids. Looking over at Pidge, he sees her pale skin green at the edges. For a long moment neither speak a word, their eyes glued onto the deadly wash.

Lance finally gathers the courage to say what Pidge didn’t want to.

“We’ll have to cross it.” He frowns, already dreading their upcoming obstacle, “But how?”

He scans the riverbed, a childlike hope in him wishing for some sort of mysterious pathway to magically appear. Sadly, no such thing happened. 

“There! Upstream!” Pidge points towards a spot only a tree length or so upstream from them. Following her finger, Lance gazes at the river. It takes him a second, but he manages to spot a couple, fairly flat stones in the water, positioned in a relatively direct line from one end to the other. “Those rocks look like they could be used as a pathway.”

A large push of water sends a wave swelling over one of the rocks. Lance’s tanned skin pales. On further inspection, lichen-green sponge sprawled across most of the stones, gleaming brightly in the sunlight with reflected moisture. The moss-covered rocks did little to quench Lance fear. If they were to fall in, then, well…

“Let’s get this over with.” Pidge says, her brown eyes hardened at the face of adversity. Yet despite her determined facade, Lance could see the shakiness in her steps and wearily glances at the river. 

The small trek up to the rocks wasn’t too difficult - Pidge’s wicked sharp swords making quick work of any poor bush that stood in their way. Deep down, Lance is thankful of his and Pidge’s tentative alliance, even though it’s more taut than a piece of stretched rope. Those blades of her’s could easily have killed him when she infiltrated Katolis.

They both take a second to stare out at the path in front of them. Each rock is spaced a couple feet away from one another in a rather zig-zagged formation. The ones closest to the banks were mostly dry at the top but were more jagged and uneven, while the rocks further in were wet and mossy, yet were much flatter. Every so often, a burst of water would shoot from downstream, temporarily submerging the innermost rocks. Cold tendrils of dread make their way down Lance’s spine; he shivers, not in anticipation, but in fear. 

“Here,” he says. The waver in his words betrays his faux-confident mask, “I’ll go first.”

Pidge snorts mirthlessly. “Not a chance, _prince.”_

He’s offended for about three seconds, until he realises Pidge probably didn’t call him ‘prince’ in a mocking way. _Probably._ Then again, he knows absolutely nothing about her quirks or mannerisms. 

“Why not? I’ve got good balance, and if you go first you’ll probably just ditch me.” His words prompt a small, hesitant smile from the elf. Whether she could see the humour in his words Lance didn’t know.

Raising a challenging eyebrow, Pidge gestures her hand towards the rocks. “Go ahead, the stage is all yours.”

Lance flashes his award winning smile that he’s used countless times in his endeavours to seduce others (to no success, let it be known). “Wish me luck?” He grins at her.

Pidge shudders. “Don’t drown.”

“You betcha.” He says, shooting a finger gun at her. 

As he turns away from Pidge, Lance looks at the rushing water in front of him and gulps. Fear, anxiety, worry, they all fill his gut with a desire to turn back now, to scamper back to the castle with a tail between his legs and air still in his lungs. He knows that the moment he crosses that river, his journey is permanent. No take-backsies, no backing out. Nothing.

Lance breaths in.

_This is it._ This is what he had to do to become an adventurer. Just like Queen McClain, he could overcome obstacles and travel all around the continent. The easy way was never the better way. He _has_ to do this.

_I’ll make you proud, mother._

As he breathes out, Lance takes the first leap. 

Just as graceful as a Labrador not yet grown into its paws, he soars into the hair, landing unbalanced on one of the jagged edges. He has to crouch down, steading himself with his hands. The rough edges cut lightly into his palms, spreading red smears across the surface. He winces. 

_This is going to be hard,_ Lance thinks to himself, then laughs under his breath at the euphemism. He needs to find a way to make it across fast, efficiently, and most importantly, safely. 

And just like that, an idea pops into his head. 

A nostalgic smile dons his features — memories of him and Hunk spending hours out in the harsh summer’s sun playing skipping, hopping, and all things tripping games suddenly rush back to Lance in a tidal wave of memories. A fond, rose-coloured hue tinges his thoughts; those were the days before his mother died and the throne’s responsibilities thrust upon his step-brother. No more was there any room for hopscotch or children’s lullabies. Ever since then, Lance had been told one thing over and over again: _grow up._

But maybe, just maybe, his rather unique situation called for the childish folly he had tried to suppress for years.

Would Queen McClain approve of his methods? Probably not. Was he still going to try? Definitely.

Clenching his still-bleeding palms around the rock’s edge, Lance launches himself onto the next rock. The boulder is flatter than the previous one, but much narrower. Midair, he lifts one foot, and hops onto the flat surface. The next few rocks are similar — a hop, skip, and a jump interchanging with every new stony obstacle. 

Huh. _Just like hopscotch._

The running of the river and thrum of his heartbeat is easily drowned out by the childish rush that overcomes him. Lance finds himself almost enjoying his little, deadly game of hopping across river boulders in a certainly unorthodox manner. No doubtedly Pidge was probably shaking her head in frustration or calling him an idiot. 

“Hey!” Lance calls out, glee and jubilation seeping through his voice as he lands onto the next rock, “I think I’m getting the hang of _thi-ahhhhh!”_

His ill-gripped boot slips on a patch of sodden moss, and suddenly his body lurches forward. The prince has to do a rather awkward manoeuvre of flailing and thrusting to regain his balance. By the time he’s finally corrected his centre of gravity, laughter rings from behind him. He turns back to his elven companion and scowls. 

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Pidge apologises, though not sincerely, “You go ahead! You’re doing _amazing.”_

Through her thick Moonshadow accent, he hears an immense amount of sarcasm.

“Oh, you shut it.” Lance retorts, desperate to make a gesture with his hands if not for the fear that Queen McClain would rise up from the grave just to scold him. _Mama raised a gentleman._

Turning back, he jumps from rock to rock in a slower but more steady fashion, not wanting to sacrifice anymore of his safety for speed. Despite the slippery film glazed on top of the innermost rocks, it’s the outer ones that Lance finds he has the most trouble with due to their uneven surfaces. Soon enough (and without much interruption from his friendly elven annoyance), the prince is almost at the end. All he needs to do is jump, from a standing position, a couple feet to a rock barely the size of his show. From then, it's another small leap to the shoreline.

_Simple._

_Hunk would be killing himself right now,_ Lance thinks. No matter how much he loved his cowardly step-brother, the prince- no, _king,_ would have hated this adventure. No _way_ Hunk would have the balls to cross a river in this fashion. 

“We don’t have all day, idiot!”

Pidge’s yell cuts through his thoughts. Her words are muted from the river; Lance can barely hear her anymore.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles under his breath, “can’t wait until you see how easy it is.”

Mentally pumping himself up, Lance shakes his hands and twitches his foot. The small motions serve to get his adrenaline up to a point where his fear is replaced by excitement. With one final grin, he flings his body across the water.

And as always, his lanky limbs make everything worse. 

Lance overshoots the small rock, his foot landing halfway in the water. As his equilibrium crashes down so does his body, tripping face forward into the direction of the now-shallow, rushing shallows. He barely has enough stretch to launch him one final time into the air, almost falling short of the shore. 

_Oof!_

Lance lands harshly on the soft grass, knees buckling under the weight of his momentum. 

_He…_

_He did it!_

Elation bubbles up his throat; ignoring the pain in his legs he jumps up, throwing his hands in the air despite the agony it ignites in his muscles.

_“Woooah!_ Did you see that?!” Lance cups his hands around his mouth in the hopes that Pidge can hear him from across the river. “How awesome am I?”

Over the roaring of the river, he barely hears a small, “I can’t hear you!”

“You can cross now!” Lance screams again, flashing a thumbs up for good measures, in hopes that Pidge understands the general gist of his message. As he watches her body crouched low, gearing up for the deadly game of hopscotch against jagged rocks and frantic current, he realises that yes, she understood.

The moment Pidge takes her first leap, Lance is slack-jawed in amazement. Her movements, the spring in her step and the elegance in her jumps, is absolutely gorgeous. The well-practice grace must have come from years of training - no doubt to be a Moonshadow assassin, an enigma of a profession with equal parts deadly idea and beauty. Where his movements were sloppy and unrefined, Pidge sprung from one rock to another as if she had traversed the path a thousand times before. 

But then, he notices the waters receding slightly as the river seems to grow ever-so shallower. It was a detail so small, so minute, that the prince is sure that Pidge doesn’t even see it. Lance calls out but she brushes him off, probably eager to do it himself. He racks his brain, trying to remember if there was any reason why a river in Katolis would have fluctuating depths.

And then it hits him.

_Dams!_ King Garret had ordered for some of the smaller, more unstable rivers to have their courses diverted into the main rivers of Katolis. Maybe, just maybe, there were currents being diverted to this river.

Lance watches a surge of water rush downstream as Pidge geared up to leap to the middle-most stepping stone. He wants to warn Pidge, but she’s too far away for her to hear him. It almost happens in slow motion. The shaking in her legs, the widening of her eyes. The water that rushes over the rock as she lands. 

His outstretched hand and panicked scream could do nothing to stop her body from tipping over her heels.

_“Pidge!”_

For a painful moment he meets her gaze, and sees only fear reflected in those hazel irises. Her mouth is open, but Lance can’t hear a thing over the roaring of the river. 

He rushes forward to the edge of the bank, bag haphazardly tossed aside, as Pidge’s small body hits the water. The current immediately takes hold, washing her flailing limbs and still-submerged head downstream. 

_Oh stars, oh no._ What could he do?! 

Pidge didn’t seem like a strong swimmer at all. Could she survive the swim if Lance left her? Could he survive the guilt of watching her drown? He has to decide quickly. There’s no time to think. 

Does he risk his life for an elf?

As Lance leaps into the water, he realises that the answer was a definite ‘yes.’

The moment his skin comes into contact with the water, a thousand frigid shards of ice stab into him. Lance’s breath is momentarily forced out of his lungs; the blizzard of fiery-cold water pulling at every inch of his skin. As his body dives under, he can feel the pull of the treacherous currents charging against him. Lance opens his eyes.

Under the river’s surface, everything looks so… serene. There was a calmness, a tranquility, that is a complete dichotomy of the raging rivers above. The slow waving of cerulean plants billowing down below, the sun-reflecting minnows darting in and out of their small rocky alcoves — for a moment Lance watches an untouched world down below and feels at peace-

-right until his body slams into a rock. 

A jarring pain shoots up his spine; he gasps but choke on foul, polluted river water, small capsules of air bubbling out of his mouth. Eyes widening, Lance claws at the water, desperately finding his way to the surface. His chest constricts and he can’t breath. There’s no air, _he can’t breath, hecan’tbreathhecan’tbreath-_

Violently breaching the surface, Lance gasps as sweet oxygen finally fills his lungs. But there’s no time to catch up on his breath, he _has_ to save Pidge. He can barely see her body being swept along the treacherous current, her head pushed under water too often for her to fight. 

Channeling the swiftness of a trout and the strength of Shiro and Hunk combined, Lance cuts through the waves with his arms, using a shaky stroke to push him along. 

“Pidge!” He screams, hoping that it’ll get her attention. “Hold on! Fight the cur-“ a rogue wave cuts off his next words, violently dunking him under water. Lance grasps at the surface, heaving and spluttering brackish muck from his mouth. He blinks rapidly, trying to rid the blurriness from his eyes. As he does, he spots Pidge’s small body - made even smaller by the daunting waves - being pushed by the current into the middle of the river.

Right into the pathway of a wall of jagged rocks. 

And Pidge hasn’t even noticed.

_No no nonono!_

Her eyes catch his. Pure, unrefined terror bleeds from her mousy-brown irises.

“Lance!”

It’s the fear, the horror in her voice reverberating in the back of his mind that shocks Lance into gathering every last morsel of strength he had and pushing himself forward. Pushing himself to the very limit, the prince reaches forward, arm outstretched and fingers poised at the ready. He doesn’t need to scream, doesn’t need to try and fight the natural tides for his voice — even at the face of imminent peril an expression of understanding is etched on Pidge’s face. Her fright turns to determination. 

She reaches forward.

There’s too much water, their palms are too slippery, but the way her fingers slot perfectly within his negates the struggle. With one final burst of energy Lance _tugs,_ pulling her out from the path of deadly rocks. 

It’s not over yet, though.

Their bodies, wrapped around each other in tandem, go sprawling back under the current. The glorious amounts of energy Lance once possessed had all been drained away, his body growing more and more limp. He barely notices Pidge using her free hand to catch onto an overhanging branch. With some divine luck, the Moonshadow elf manages to haul herself back onto shore; Lance stumbling not too far behind and they both tiredly wade from the muddy depts and onto dry land.

Lance scarcely has enough time to thank the gods for their survival before his legs give way and he collapses, Pidge quickly following suit.

They both hunch over, retching the foul river water from their lungs. Lance tries to hack and spit the vile taste from his mouth to no avail - the taste of muddy liquid and contamination sticks to his tongue. When he looks over at Pidge, her grimaced expressions makes it seem that she’s thinking the same. His shoulders sag. 

Unable to hold the weight of his limbs on all fours, the prince slumps from exertion onto the wet grass, his lanky limbs sprawling in every direction. He scrunches his nose at the puddle of coughed-up bile next to him, but couldn’t find the energy to move. 

Aside from the leonine roar of the river and his own laboured choking, Lance blocks out any other noise. He…

He could have _died._

The rushing currents were too strong for him to fight in the end. He may have stopped Pidge from becoming an elf skewer but without her quick thinking and spatial awareness, they’d still be drowning in the river.

It’s a scary thought. Mortality never seemed to close until now. 

Lance closes his eyes. He’s not sure if it’s the river water that’s making his vision blurry. He knows that he has just experienced that part of the stories that Queen McClain glossed over - the unbridling fear, the heart-stopping panic that locks up your muscles. It’s something Lance knows that he’ll have to face time and time again.

A small nudge on his shoulder knocks him out of his polluted thoughts.

“You… you _saved_ me…”

He looks up, spotting an equally drenched and slightly disturbed Pidge staring at him. Awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, Lance grins weakly.

“You’re my travel partner.” He offers no further explanation, but the way Pidge’s eyes shine says that he doesn’t need to. 

They fall into another long stretch of silence, though this time there’s less animosity behind it. He almost feels… _content_ with the Moonshadow Elf. Saving someone, rescuing them from a river, he isn’t sure if Queen McClain would be proud or disappointed with him.

Did Lance betray his mother by saving Pidge? Or did he act in a justified way? 

_When is a life worth saving?_

A heavy feeling settles at the bottom of his gut. There were many constants about the word he and Pidge lived in. You can’t mix oil and water. Humans have no arcana magic. Elves and humans are sworn enemies. 

The elves _killed_ his mother, for crow’s sake! Ripped her from her kingdom and from her young child! Lance _should’ve_ let Pidge drown, _should’ve_ brought his revenge down on the race that /dared/ to /murder/ his mother. He should be _furious_.

Then why does he not regret saving her? 

Lance doesn’t even realise that he’s staring at the assassin until she speaks again. 

“I look and feel like a drowned cat.” Pidge whines, dragging her fingers through her drenched, matted hair. She has a grumpy look on her face, one that makes her a little endearing. Almost, cut—

_Nope. Nu-uh. Not going there._

Hauling herself to her feet and slinging her small knapsack over her shoulder, Pidge tugs at his sodden sleeve. 

“Well, come on then. We better get going.”

Lance groans. “You’re killing me, Pidgeon. You hear me? I’m dead.” He lifts his arm, just for it to flop down limply on the mossy forest floor. His whole body felt like lead - he had aches in muscles he didn’t even know existed. Every nook and cranny of his body was plain _tired._

As eloquent as always, the Moonshadow elf elbows him in the back.

“You’re the laziest prince I’ve ever met.”

Lance flashes her his signature dazzling smile. “Damn right I am.”

** ༄༅ **

When Lance starts humming again, Pidge doesn’t say anything.

Maybe it’s because her ears are waterlogged, or that her near-death experience tired her out too much to argue, though it might be because he’s not trying to actively annoy her. Who knows? But nonetheless, the assassin doesn’t reprimand him when he picks up another tune. 

Humming is a tic that Lance couldn’t seem to shake, not when he was a boy, and certainly not now. Whistling tunes, singing songs underneath his breath, it’s almost habitual in the way he does it to fill the silence. He doesn’t even realise that he’s started doing it again - absentmindedly, as the two unlikely allies make their way through the quiet forest, his thoughts wander and so too does his voice. 

It’s a melancholy melody, something too low to be a mother’s lullaby, but too sombre to be a children’s song. Sung with a few woven notes, laden with a purr that contrasts with his rich Katolis accent. 

“What’s that song called?”

Lance stops humming. His shoulders shut at Pidge’s question. 

“Dunno,” he says, staring at the space in front of him, “it just came to me, I guess.”

Pidge stares at him with a curious look on her face. 

“Came to you,” she echoes. 

Not wanting to let their conversation fall into (another) silence, the prince turns his focus to her.

“So, how far do you think we are from Honerv- uh, _Haggar’s_ secret-lair-thingy?” Asking earnestly, Lance tries to plaster a well-meaning expression on his face so that Pidge doesn’t think he’s being annoying. When she doesn’t scoff or elbow him again, Lance took it as a sign that she would genuinely answer his question.

“At this rate? It’ll be a while.” Pidge says, her eyebrows slightly furrowed in thought. “We should probably stop soon and get some rest. Nightfall will come in only a couple of vargas”

“Vargas?” Lance tilts his head, thoroughly confused.

“Y’know, like a tenth of a quintant?” The elf speaks as if her words are obvious. 

“Do you mean days?”

Both of them stare at each other, wearing the same looks of incredulous incertitude. 

“You humans are so weird.” Pidge huffs. “ _Ow-are._ What a strange word.”

Before Lance risked his life to save her and vice versa, he might have started another argument. But to keep peace for both of their sakes, he sighs deeply. “It’s pronounced _aw-uh_. There’s twenty-four of them in a day.”

Pidge mimes the word silently, a confused expression written on her face. “So hours are just tinier varargs? _Weird.”_

Lance defiantly holds Pidge’s intense gaze, desperate to not let her win. They stare each other down, the visual tension growing stronger and stronger. The elf breaks their eye contact first and Lance feels triumphant for a second and a half, right until she darts forwards to elbow him in the stomach. Pain stabs into him, and as he bends over, clutching his torso and gasping in pain, Pidge’s shadow looms over him.

“It’s vargas.” She grins smugly, a cheshire smile spreading across her face. When she walks past him, there’s a slight swagger in her step.

_“Alright_ , I got it!” Lance says, his voice breathless. _Damn_ did that elf know how to hit.

He takes a moment to breathe but before he knows it, Pidge is far ahead of him, her figure barely seen past the forest’s wild mess of branches and yellowed leaves.

“Hey! Wait up!”

Even from far away, Pidge’s laughter could be heard ringing across the clearing.

“So, we’re completely off course wandering in an unfamiliar forest and it’s almost dark,” Lance mutters, the exhaustion from the day’s perilous adventures destroying what little filters he had left, “I _totally_ don’t see what could go wrong.”

“Suck it up, human.”

**༄༅**

“So…” Pidge stares at Lance, an almost foolish expression written on her face. They’ve been walking for only a few more _vargas_ , making bits of small-talk along the way. Lance can see her fiddling with her hands, as if she’s uncomfortable with something. Humming in response, he motions for the elf to go on. “I’ve got a question for you.”

_Blunt as always._ “Shoot.”

“When we left the castle, you got the news that your father died.” she looks away, a flush spreading across her cheeks, whether from embarrassment or the sudden drop in temperature. “How come you’re not, like, _sad?”_

Lance winces. Well, that _certainly_ wasn’t the type of question he was expecting. Chuckling mirthlessly, he averts his eyes to anywhere but the Moonshadow elf. He opens his mouth, then closes it. How does he explain his less than stellar relationship with the former king to someone?

“Well, uh, for one thing, he wasn’t my dad. Step-dad, actually.” Talking about it is strange, to say the least. No one in Katolis ever really acknowledged that he wasn’t biologically related to the current monarch. Aside from Shiro, that is. The knight would use his step-prince status as somewhat of a motivator for him to do better. _Not like that ever made a difference._ “My mother, Queen McClain, died when I was younger.”

“And your father?”

Lance shrugs nonchalantly, and tries to ignore the small ache in his chest. “Dunno, never met him. Buggered off right after I was born, apparently. Couple years later my mother marries someone else and then dies. That’s that.”

“You sound awfully… detached?” Pidge hesitates, trying to pick her words carefully. 

“Like I said, it all happened when I was a kid. After a few years you get over it.” 

And that was true. It had taken a long time to get over the fact that his father never wanted him, and an even longer time to accept his mother's death. Some days he would lay paralysed in bed, unable to find the strength to move. The realisation of how wholly _alone_ he was in the universe was soul-crushing. Was there anyone in the world that he could call his own? Sure, Hunk called him ‘brother,’ but some days Lance could never bring his mind around the fact that they weren’t, and could never, be bonded by blood. How long would it be until Hunk left him as well?

But Lance was fine. _Totally_

“That’s…” Pidge trails off. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He never really liked me. Tolerated me, I think.” Lance barks out a laugh. “The feeling was mutual. I guess— I guess after years of not caring, death doesn’t really affect you.” He winces at the voice break. Luckily, she doesn’t comment on it.

They walk for a bit longer in silence, the tranquil sounds of the surrounding forest making up for the lack of words. Birdsong and rustling zephyrs chatter instead, filling the background with an incomprehensible yet soothing white noise. As leaves crunch underneath his leather boots, Lance wonders how Pidge managed to get him to say all of that. He’s never told anyone - even Hunk - else about those feelings. It… it was strange to be open to someone he barely knew. And to a Moonshadow elf, nonetheless! 

Suddenly, something warm touches the bare space on his arm that his jacket didn’t cover. He looks down, only to see Pidge’s pale, freckled hand resting against his skin. She doesn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. Begrudgingly, Lance feels himself smile, an expression Pidge mirrors softly. 

“Well! That’s enough about my life!” Lance hastily detaches himself from her touch. _Nope, no fraternising with the elf!_ “How about you? What’s your tragic backstory?” 

The joke doesn’t land. 

Immediately, Pidge’s body tenses and her face becomes guarded again. She narrows her eyes, fists clenching as she looks away. 

“But- uh, you don’t have to tell me!” He quickly backtracks, knowing instantly that he’s screwed up, “Not everyone has a tragic backstory, y’know? Not saying _I_ do, or anything, but, like-“

“I think I’ve been Ghosted.” Pidge murmurs, her broken voice barely above a whisper. Truthfully, Lance has no idea what _Ghosted_ means, but judging by the heartbroken expression on the elf’s face, he knows that it must be bad. Pidge makes the motions to continue without waiting for his response. “They didn’t want me to look for Matt. When I find him, I’m not sure I’ll be able to return home.” 

_When_ , not _if_.

She doesn’t say who ‘they’ are. Lance doesn’t think it’s the right time to ask.

“I’m-“ He goes to apologise, to say _something_ to comfort her, but before he can finish she holds up a hand.

“Don’t. I’m over it.” With a tone of finality, the prince can’t help but to comply with her wishes. He feels like they’ve both just shared an important part of themselves, but omitted the things that actually mattered. Even if Pidge was an elf, Lance genuinely feels sorry for her. It’s a weird feeling. 

_Well, back into the good ol’ cumbersome silence,_ Lance laments to himself. By now, he’s used to the long stretches of nothingness, where no one could find the right words to say. A person didn’t go nineteen years awkwardly interacting with palace guards and servants who were never really his friends without learning a thing or two about carrying a conversation.

He’s about to launch into a tension-breaking ramble, something on the wonders of birch versus redwood in bow-making, before a small flash of light catches his eye. By now, the sun had begun to set, its hazy ginger orb casting less and less light by the minute, and the shows of the forest grew longer and longer, almost enveloping the pair whole. Yet through the large, olive-green leaves, small tendrils of glow shone through, too red to be natural.

“Hey Pidge?” He really doesn’t want to interrupt the assassin from her brooding, but now seems like an apt time to do so. Tapping her shoulder, Lance points a skinny finger at the small outcropping of leaves. “What’s that?”

It takes a few seconds before recognition flashes across her face.

“Well, Lance,” she says, sounding all too grim, “I think we’ve found a place to stay for the night.”

He doesn’t understand what she means by that, and voices his thoughts accordingly. Snorting, Pidge mutters ‘idiot’ underneath her breath. He’s about to complain before Pidge grabs his hand and pulls him to the trees. Swatting away the branches, both of them stare almost hungrily at the sight that befalls them.

Nestled within the native flora, a half-dozen or so wooden houses sit cosily in a small divot in the earth that’s too shallow to be a valley, but too deep to be a hole. It’s a quiet atmosphere, one of dim lights and quiet lullabies, warm aromas and hearty fires. The settlements are small, cuboid in size and much too cramped for Lance to find them even the slightest bit enticing; with each step exhaustion grows more and more on his body, and he’s forced to reconsider his standards. The prince had never gone a day in his life without sleeping on beds woven with silk and wool or a room bigger than most of the houses in this quaint little town, though Lance was beginning to realise he would have to rapidly alter his standards if he were to become a true adventurer like Queen McClain.

_Finally… a real settlement!_

Without a care in the world, Lance rushes down the hill, a smile widening on his face as he imagines the warm place he’ll sleep in for the night. No cold rivers, no morning dew. Something fit for a prince.

He stops his mad dash at the bottom of the slope, taking in the beautiful sight which was actual /human/ life. It was refreshing. A few seconds later Pidge catches up to him, breathing heavily from exertion.

“You… _idiot…”_ She says through laboured pants. “We can’t just… go walking through… a human village…”

Lance tilts his head. “Why not?”

Hunched over with her hands on her thighs, Pidge takes a few more moments to catch her breath. Only then does Lance notice that she’s wearing a long, nondescript deep green cloak that covers most of her body. There’s also a matching pair of similarly coloured gloves on her hand, though instead of four fingers the gloves have five.

“Because unfortunately,” Pidge still sounds out of breath, though she’s no longer panting between every word, “humans and elves aren’t quite buddy-buddy right now, are they?”

_Oh._

_Ohhh._

“You’ve got a disguise now, don’t you?” Lance grins at her get-up. With a little bit of makeup and some cotton filling for the pinkie of her glove, she could easily pass for a human.

Pidge releases an ever long-suffering sight, muttering under her breath in a language that he can’t understand, but sounds familiar. 

“Well then, let’s get going!” Lance exclaims, ever so cheerful at the prospect of human company. He sets off, marching delightedly toward the main cluster of houses. Pidge follows albeit reluctantly, shoulders hunched. 

Walking through the badly paved cobbled roads, Lance looks around him in wonder. He had never seen such a town before in his life. Nothing like this ever existed near the heart of Katolis nor the castle, and he has never ventured far enough to experience one. Could it even be considered a town, or just a very small, out of the way village?

He doubts the townsfolk would appreciate being called villagers. 

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, yet the town seemed to already be starting their routine of slumber. Most windows were darkened or covered by cheap-looking linen; the only establishment with any sort of lights was one of the larger buildings (one that smelled faintly of ale and echoes with drunken laughter — almost certainly the pub) and a tiny, almost outhouse-sized shack separated from the main cluster of the town. Wispy tendrils of smoke emits from its brick chimney.

Despite Lance’s rather excited behaviour, he watches the frowning form of Pidge out of the corner of his eyes. The bottle green cloak does wonders to hide her main elven features, most notably the bleached purple horns, though the dark marks underneath her brown eyes are only concealed by the way she stares down at the ground in a way that’s cautious and almost timid. 

“Do you see a place to stay?” Lance whispers, searching the town for any sign of a lodging place. He doubts they’d be allowed to stay at an inn - Pidge doesn’t quite look of age. 

She shakes her head. “Not yet.” Pidge sighs heavily, her voice slower than it was a couple hours back. “We could probably bribe someone to house us for the night. I don’t trust the humans not to rat an elf out.”

Lance’s face twists into a dark lour. “I dunno about bribing. Do you have any Katolean coins on you?” He asks, raising a questioning eyebrow. 

“Do _you_?” Pidge counters. 

“No _p_ e,” Lance says, popping the ‘p.'"

They walk for a bit more, crossing most of the village. By now it was practically night - the last remnants of sunlight barely peeking out from the horizon. He isn’t concentrating much on his surroundings, so when a shadow blurs from his peripheral vision, Lance thinks nothing of it. It’s only when Pidge suddenly takes off, dual Moonshadow blades unsheathed, that he’s shocked out of his musings.

“W— Wait! Where are you— _ugh.”_ He doesn’t even bother to finish his sentence. Pidge is already leagues in front of him, running - in that weird Moonshadow Elf fashion with both hands behind her - straight for the figure. 

“Don’t. Move.” Snarling, Pidge digs her intricately-carved closer to the person’s neck. Lance watches as she leans in, her mouth ever-so close to the figure’s ear, “Why are you in a human village, _Skywing Elf.”_

_Wait..._

_…what?!_

“S-Skywing elf?!” Lance sputters, positively horrified at the idea that _another_ elf would be living so close to Katolis. What if there were more elves hidden in the shadows, waiting for the right time to strike? What if they slaughtered Hunk, just like they did to his mother?

Slowly, as to not catch themselves on Pidge’s unforgiving dual blades, the elf turns around, visibly hesitating as they gradually take down their hood. Lightly tousled, oak-brown hair falls down in waves around the elf, intermixed with electric blue stripes that frame the elf’s milky complexion rather attractively. If it weren’t for the distinctive hurled horns or the jagged white markings painted on his skin, Lance would have found the elf almost appealing. 

Almost.

_Shame he’s an elf._

“Nothing gets past you Moonshadow folk, do they?” Their voice is distinctly masculine, but accented in a regal way that’s like a polish ornamental dagger compared to Pidge’s lumberjack’s axe. 

Pidge smirks. “No, no they do not.”

Lance, like the poised and diplomatic prince he is, blurts out, “Aren’t you supposed to have wings?” 

When two pairs of eyes stare back at him, Lance realises that his statement was perhaps a little rude. But just like most of the people in Katolis, the elves turn back to ignore him. 

“I won’t repeat it again,” the assassin growls out. Her swords are still pressing close to the other elf’s neck, poised and at the ready for any attack, “who are you, and why are you in a human village?” The blatant display of mistrust Pidge had towards them surprises Lance; in his mind, all elves had some sort of peace, or at least mutual comradeship between them. _But then again,_ he thinks, _when have the Human Kingdoms ever held anything other than animosity at worst and suspicion at best between them?_

Huh, maybe the elves weren’t as different from him as Lance thought they were. 

The Skywing elf pointedly clears his throat, eyeing the edge of Pidge blades warily. “My name is Bandor,” he says, rather poshly even by Lance’s standards, “and I live here, if you don’t mind me.”

In surprise, Pidge retracts the swords. “You live here?” She echoes.

“Yes, I do,” the elf- Bandor, answers, “and if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my house, please.” With an inconvenienced frown etched on his face, he lightly steps around Pidge, still warily glaring at her now-sheathed weapons. Before he could run off however, Lance steps in front of him.

“I don’t get it. Why do _you_ live _here_ , in a _human_ village.” Interjecting into their conversation, Lance emphasises his doubts. Things just aren’t adding up in his head. (Though, when does it ever?)

Bandor narrows his eyes. “I assume you mean why I, an elf, am here in the Human Kingdoms?” An embarrassed flush spreads across Lance’s cheeks. He meekly nods, averting his gaze away. “Because, young royal, not all of your kind are as prejudiced as you.”

Lance feels his face heat up even more. “And how do you know I’m from the castle, huh?

Bandor’s face deadpans. He points mutely to a pocket on Lance’s leather jacket. The prince looks down. Embodied on the pocket is the royal Katolis seal, stitched in purple and golden thread. 

_Ah. That’s why._ Only few could afford the fine finishings that he had. 

In a stroke of pure perceptiveness Lance didn’t know she possessed, Pidge steps in-between the two of them. “Do you mind if we stay the night, Mr. Bandor? We have nowhere else to go.” And if that didn’t seal the deal, she stares wide-eyed and innocently at the Skywing elf. For a moment, his face is strong and sturdy, but his resolve crumbles the moment she bats her eyelashes. 

Bandor sighs. “For one night. _One.”_

Lance glances over at Pidge, and they both share an accomplished grin.

** ༄༅ **

Almost unsurprisingly, Bandor’s house was the one detached from the main cluster of village homes. As the Skywing elf invites the pair into his humble abode, he shares with them that his race of elves were more used to living in a wide berth from each other, much less clustered than what the humans were used to. The village and him had mutual beneficence - Bandor was a skilled healer particularly in the arts of forest-based herbs and medicine, and would regularly help out the other townsfolk in exchange for a place to live and a guaranteed vow of silence to not snitch him out the the knights of Katolis. All in all, Lance and Pidge had a stroke of luck running into one of the only other elves in Katolis. Whether it was a comradeship to Pidge that made Bandor offer his home for the night or the want to do a good deed Lance didn’t particularly care. As long as he wasn’t sleeping outside in the grass. 

Bandor’s house was barely larger than Lance’s sleeping quarters; a thick stone structure that had a main living room/kitchen, and a smaller bedroom connected by an arch without a door. The older elf gestured towards the couch, Pidge immediately running over and jumping onto the cushions leaving no room for Lance to sleep. 

Not feeling in the mood to sleep quite yet, the prince looks around the room, surveying his surroundings. There’s not many things in the Skywing elf’s house, mainly a few knick-knacks and a collection of charcoal sketches pinned neatly against the wall. In one of them, what looks to be Bandor and another, long-haired elf stand shoulder to shoulder, smiling up at the unknown. What catches Lance's eye, however, is a thick, leather-bound tome on a table below that drawing, its golden-engraved spine facing directly at him. Cautiously, he looks over his shoulder, and opens the book. What greets him are documents upon documents of elvish writing. 

“Hey Bandor,” Lance calls, fingering at the rough, worn pages, “what’s this?” 

“Oh, that?” The Skywing elf looks over his shoulder from the kitchen, mildly interested, “That’s a spellbook.”

Bandor walks over, eyeing the pages with an emotion Lance can’t place. He brings a calloused finger down, tracing the faded purple strokes inked onto the paper. “Long ago, the elves of Xadia would often seek to learn other mediums of arcanum channelling from their brethren, and would sometimes record their observances. My father, before he died, was one of those adventurers to travel around Xadia and observe different mediums of magic. He gave that book to me in hopes that I could hone in some magic skill, but, um,” Bandor chuckles dryly, “I’m not very good at it.”

Sapphire eyes flickering over the delineated figures, Lance furrows his brows as he reads over the foreign text. On that particular cranked page, descriptions of a spell are softly inscribed into the paper, as well as the motions to do them. The symbol looks like some sort of starburst; he can’t help himself from sounding the incantation out loud. 

“Sid… _sidus lukat? Sidus luceat?”_ The words feel strange on his tongue. “What does that mean?”

Abruptly, Bandor slams the book shut, almost catching Lance’s fingers within the pages. 

“I think it’s time for you to go to bed, young human.”

Lance sighs, still eyeing the leather-bound pages. As much as he’d love to read about all of the elven spells, his mind, body, and soul are weighed down by exhaustion. He nods. 

“You’re right. Goodnight.” 

Striding towards the couch and laying at its foot, he barely hears a soft ‘goodnight’ before he falls into a deep, blissful slumber. 

** ༄༅ **

Warmth.

It’s all he feels.

There’s something that filters in rays against his body, shards of light that pierces his eyelids and warps the darkness into something more orange. Despite the hard floor beneath his back, or the uncomfortable leather pillow that’s actually his travelling knapsack, he floats in a strange haze of peace and relaxation and warmth. He rolls over, snuggling closer to the warm pillow next to him. His arms are wrapped around it; he sighs contently, nuzzling his face into the fine strands of the pillow. As he brings it closer to his chest, it lets out an equally blissed hum.

_Wait a minute…_

They open their eyes at the same time. Blue meets brown, and Lance finds himself scrambling back from Pidge’s grasp, his high-pitched shout ringing out of the room. 

“Were you spooning me?!” Pidge screams, her eyes darting from Lance to the floor, and back again. He finds himself shaking his head almost frantically. 

“Nu-uh!” Pointing an accusing finger at the elf, Lance denies with great vigour, “You were the one cosying it up with me!”

They share a disgusted stare; the thought of spooning with a _Moonshadow Elf_ of all things sends a shiver down the prince’s spine. 

“Never speak of this again.” Pidge says, glaring angrily at him. 

Lance nods his head enthusiastically. “Gladly.”

The morning light fluttering through the rough linen curtains spurs both of them to get ready for the day ahead. Lance briefly checks on Bandor, but finds that the enigmatic Skywing elf isn’t in his room, nor anywhere else in the house. While the prince strips, slowly changing his undergarments and into his usual travelling clothes, he stands pointedly away from Pidge in the opposite corner of the room, avoiding her gaze at any cost. The one time he does accidentally look over his shoulder Lance catches her eye then quickly whips his head the other way, blushing furiously. 

It’s only once his morning routine (sans most of his usual facial care products and daily hot brown morning potion) that Bandor arrives back at the house. The door slams open, with the older man looking rather worse for wear, His usual haggard cloak is slightly askew off of his shoulder, and his hair is ruffled with a twig poking out of the side. 

He shuts the door, his face contorted in stress,. “You need to leave,” Bandor grits out, his pupils blown wide but not in fear, “one of the villagers recognised another elf last night. You two need to go before they find you.”

_So much for interspecies friendship,_ is what Lance wanted to say if he wasn’t internally freaking out. He hasn’t eaten breakfast yet, barely woken up, and just like Pidge is half-dressed. There’s still bleary sleep in his eyes, for star’s sake! Couldn’t have someone raised the alarm _after_ he had properly woken up?!

Lance turns his head to look at Pidge, but she stares ahead in a hard, resigned expression. “Thank you,” she grits out, obviously annoyed with Bandor’s abrupt message, “for hosting us last night. You’ve been incredibly generous.”

Pidge may have been an elf but in that moment, her cold, blatantly forced manners has never reminded Lance more than the human royalty he interacted with during many political ventures. _She’d fit perfectly well with the Evenere folk, they’re all just like her — more emotionless than a rock._

Without any more pleasantries, the Moonshadow elf briskly gathers all of her belongings into her surprisingly small knapsack, hauling it over her shoulder as if it weighed nothing. Following suit, Lance attempts to lift his own bag from off the ground. For one second his arms hold strong, but then the extra weight of its contents over-balances his equilibrium, and Lance finds himself stumbling a couple steps. He tries to ignore Pidge’s smirk. 

Bandor sighs, but opens the door for both of them. “Godspeed, young ones. I’m sorry I could not be of more help.”

If Lance thought they would dawdle any longer, he was sorely mistaken. Roughly grabbing his hand, Pidge jerkily leads him out of the house. The prince barely has enough time to call out a cheerful “s’all good!’ before Pidge is hurrying him from Bandor’s detached house into the surrounding woods. 

“We need to get away from this town as soon as possible,” she grits out. 

Lance squints his eyes, struggling to adjust to the sudden light change. The day seems rather overcast, the long shadows projected by surrounding trees and houses only add to the general urgency of their escape. 

“Wait wait _wait,”_ yanking away his hand from her grip, Lance stops before they can enter the forest again, “do you know which way we need to go?”

Pidge waves her hands dismissively. “Of course. The Breach is this way, so let’s _go.”_ She makes a motion to grab Lance’s arm, but he steps back, pointing at the sun in front of him.

“Last time I checked, the sun sets in the east. Aren’t we travelling north?”

Her whole body stilling, Pidge whips her sight to the sun then to Lance, and back at the sun again.

“Huh,” she says, looking rather surprised. 

In their moments of deliberation, neither of them spot the growing crowd of humans.

“Hey, you!”

_Uh oh._

Slowly, Lance turns around. Behind him, a half-dozen or so townsfolk are gathered at the foot of the hill, most of them with some sort of sword or dagger at their hip. Luckily, he recognises none of them; most likely none of them recognising him as the prince, either. 

Quickly schooling his face into a grin, Lance shoots a finger gun into their general direction.  
  


“Hello everyone!” He says, cheerfulness masking his fear, “We’re just passing through! Sorry for the disruption.” He addresses them the same way he talks to King Garret -- unease thinly veiled by nonchalance.

One of the townsfolk, a one-eyed, surly man in plaid with a potbelly to rival Lance step-father’s, steps out from the crowd. The man’s angry frown cuts through his cheerful demeanor. 

“What are you doing here, traveller?” He barks out rather gruffly, narrowing his one eye in suspicion. 

Lance blinks innocently. “Nothing! Like I said, we’ll be off now!”

The man steps forward, and he flinches at the movement. “Not so fast. Who are you and where do you go?”

Annoyance burns through Lance’s belly. Before he can reply, however, Pidge cuts in front of him. “Oh for star’s sake, can you leave us alone! We’ve already said that we’re going, so rack off!” She throws her hand down in anger, challenging any of the villages to invoke her wrath. 

It’s in that moment both Lance and Pidge realise that she had forgotten to put her gloves on. The very gloves that consoles her very elven, four fingers. 

No one speaks. For a heavily pregnant moment, Lance stares at the villagers. They stare back. As the one-eyed man grips the sword at his hip tighter, he turns to Pidge. 

_”Run!”_

Within an instant, they’re both sprinting towards the forest. The screams behind them of ‘get the elf!’ pierce the usual tranquility of the forest. Judging by the sounds of heavy thumping behind them and the shouted insults directed particularly towards Pidge, the townsfolk were fervently giving chase.

Anger shoots through Lance’s veins. Of course this would happen! Barely a day into their journey and they’ve faced a homicidal river, a weird Skywing elf, and now another murderous threat of humans. Branches whip past the prince’s arms; he growls, jumping over a fallen log. 

“Now you’ve done it!” Lance shouts, unable to hold back the anger that bleeds into his voice. “Couldn’t you keep your mouth shut for _once?!”_

“Well I’m sor _ry_ that you humans are so fragile over everything! Pidge shoots back a little breathless. 

Lance doesn’t have enough energy to reply. They’re both running as fast as they can (with Pidge a few strides ahead, because _of course_ the Moonshadow assassin would have more endurance), though no matter how quick they are the small horde of human villagers draw closer and closer, the harsh thumps of their feet hitting the ground grow in a symphony of panic. Lance is the first one to recognise defeat - as an old friend, it’s not unfamiliar to him.

“We— we can’t outrun them,” he says in between heavy panting, “they’re too… they’re too fast.”

He might have said more, but his next words were knocked out of his mouth by a stray tree branch whipping at his face. Lance stumbles, quickly regaining his balance. The mob chasing them sounds closer now. 

“Pidge, I have an idea.”

The Moonshadow elf doesn’t realise he’s stopped running until she looks back. Lance can see the uncertainty, the doubting in her eyes, the swirling shades of amber and sorrel gleaming not quite in distrust, but in scepticism. He doesn’t blame her. Pidge can’t discern… _thing_ that he notices, the itch at the back of his spine, somehow telling him exactly what to do with no words at all.

He would be mad to try and explain it. 

“To what?” Shouting out through a tensing jaw the girl looks behind him, her face melting into something akin to fear. “Get us killed?”

Frustration blazes through Lance, but he holds his ground. “Just trust me!”

Pidge clenches her fist. They don’t have enough time to hesitate any longer, and both of them know it. Perhaps the elf is resigned to a fate where the townsfolk catch them. It’s the only reason why he thinks she would even consider his words.

As the tension bleeds out from Pidge’s shoulders and as her shoulders slump in defeat, he knows what she’ll say even before she opens her mouth. 

“Don’t screw up, idiot.”

Lance takes those words to heart. 

“I promise.”

He closes his eyes and breaths in. There’s something thrumming in his veins, a push and pull that wants, no, _demands_ power. Something that he’s had all of his life, but never recognised until now. The sounds of angered townsfolk are drowned out by the roaring of blood in his ears. Slowly, he brings two fingers up, and draws the starburst in the air. 

Up. Down. Across.

Up. Down. Across.

He feels power imbued in his lungs. Something electric, thrumming with potential, reverberates in his lungs. With the orator of a lion, he shouts, 

_ "Sidus luceat!” _

The moment the incantation leaves his lips, a blinding light shines from his hand. A brilliant star-white glow illuminates the clearing; Lance has to look away to avoid being blinded by his own spell. For a pause the light holds, then quickly it dies down as the power in his palm fades within itself. 

A crazed giggle escapes Lance’s lips.

“I… I did magic…” he whispers, then with a grin, shouts, “I did magic!”

Pidge nods frantically. “Yes you did! Now can we _please_ get going before they recover!”

And so they run off, Lance trailing behind Pidge as a gaggle of villagers wipe their eyes, training to rid themselves of the temporary blindness. As trees fly past and branches whip at his shoulders, Lance can’t help but to feel that he’s finally found _something_ that he’s good at, that he’s finally found a role where he isn’t simply mediocre. A warm, fuzzy feeling radiates across his body. Lance knows that there’s no way that he should have been able to do magic. He’s a human, for star’s sake!

But that doesn’t matter, does it? He cast a spell! Something no other humans could do! Not Hunk, not Shiro, not anyone else in Katolis nor the Human Kingdoms. 

And Lance realises that maybe, just maybe, magic was somehow his destiny. 

_Maybe._

** ༄༅ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I hope this is okay? This chapter was brought to you by rage and midnight writing sessions. 
> 
> Just want to say: no, this fic will not be the same plot of the show. While Lance and Callum's experiences may seem a bit similar now, as the plot progresses there will be major differences. 
> 
> Side note, we're three seasons into the dragon prince and there's not a lot of spells that have been explicitly shown? Like, other than Callum's scant knowledge barely any have been named. Aaravos, who does a lot of spells, is usually doing them completely silent, so there's that. This fic might be taking a few artistic liberties with the spells but hey, they're all in latin so it's not that hard.
> 
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading! If you can, please leave a comment and kudos! Reading comments always motivate us to write more. Next chapter will be brought to you by the lovely rosieclark, so sit tight and get ready for an awesome third chapter.
> 
> Thanks!  
> -Ashka
> 
> [Ashka's Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/ashkazora) | [Rosie's Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/rosieclark)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something in her heart flutters, because she knows exactly how he feels. Katie removes one of her hands from his grasp and uses it to cup his cheek, pleasantly surprised when he leans into her touch. “Well then, Lance McClain, let me tell you a secret. You are so much more than I originally thought. In a good way.” 
> 
> He grins up at her, his smile dazzling enough to blind. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah its been a hot sec, but finally here with another chapter! somehow amidst the angst and fluff and shirtless lance appeared... wonder how that happened! 
> 
> anyways, thanks for the comments y'all have been leaving! really makes our day to wake up and see them!

༄༅

_Forcing down his sob, he pushes past the soldiers who have gathered, falling to his knees. His cry is not human but of a wounded animal._

༄༅

“I did magic!” Lance leaps into the air. “I did magic!” 

Katie groans, her head in her hands. They stopped running about a varga ago, choosing a nice shaded spot to sit and enjoy some berries. And during their break meant for _rest_ , the human prince had not shut up. “I know.” She doesn’t have the energy to try and sound pleasant. “I heard it the last forty-three times.”

He winces apologetically, moving to sit next to her on the ground. Something in her lights up, slightly pleased that he chose to sit on the dirt beside her over the rock or log a little ways over. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” He holds out his hands in front of him, examining them. “It's just… unbelievable. I mean, how could a human like myself cast a spell?” 

He’s got a point, and if she’s being honest, she’s been thinking about the same thing. How could a _human_ do magic? She’s run the scenario in her head a bajillion times, to no avail. It just seems impossible. 

The only thing that was clear is that as a human, he should most definitely _not_ be doing magic. 

“I don’t know Lance,” she admits, pursing her lips. “But promise me you won’t try again?” 

His smile drops at once. “What? Why?” 

“Because we don’t know the effects magic will have on your body!” Without thinking she grabs one of his hands. “And I really prefer you stay safe.” 

She thinks he’s blushing, but he turns his head too quickly for her to tell for sure. “Okay then,” he mumbles. “I promise.” 

Katie holds out her thumb. “Make a thumb pact.” 

He looks at her, confusion written all over his face. “I’m sorry what?” 

“You know, we touch thumbs and if you break the pact, a glow toad will creep in on you sleeping and bite it off!”  
  


Lance makes a disgusted sound, before shrugging. “Interesting,” he presses his thumb with hers. “We normally use our pinkies.” 

She frowns. “A bit non-inclusive, don’t you think?”

“Oh, sorry I didn’t—” he sputters and she laughs. 

“It was a joke Lance, come on, we’re past this.” 

He exhales, clearly relieved. “Got it.” 

She stands, stretching her arms over her head. “Now that that's all settled, let's get a move on it! I want to make it pretty far into the woods before dark.” 

“You know,” Lance muses as he jogs to catch up with her. “Pinky promises are usually something only children do.” 

Katie huffs, slightly offended. “I am not a child.” 

“Coulda fooled me,” he remarks and she’s about to hit him with her shoe when she sees the mirth in his smile. 

“I don’t take jokes about my height lightly.” 

“My deepest apologies.” he offers her a bow, and this time she does shove him. Not hard enough to injure, just enough to shove his royal butt into the dirt. 

It feels good.

“Where exactly are we going?” he calls from the ground as she begins to walk away. 

“Heard a rumor that there have been disappearances around the Xadian border.” she calls over her shoulder. “I figure if we’re going to start looking for a sorceress it should be in the land of magic.”

༄༅

The early morning sun wakes her up, but it's the obnoxiously loud bird that keeps her that way. Sighing, she stretches, her eyes adjusting to the light. 

Maybe if Lance is still sleeping, she can sneak out for a bit and climb a tree. Or hit something with her swords. Or just have some quiet. 

Her gaze travels to where the sleeping prince lies, only to find his spot empty, pillow and blanket neatly folded up. He hadn’t deserted her, but he was missing. 

A tiny alarm bell goes off in her head but she chooses to ignore it. Panic should only be her last resort. 

“Lance?” she calls out. No response. Her frown deepens as she begins to search the outside camp area. “Lance?” 

There's a rustle of branches to her left, and she bursts through the trees, only to come face to face with a very shirtless, very sweaty Lance.

She’s quick to look away, but not before she caught an eyeful of lean muscles and tan skin. _Stars,_ all that princely training really paid off. His loose tunic does the body its hiding no justice at all. 

Her cheeks feel like they're on fire and she prays to the gods that he won’t notice. 

“Pidge!?” he yelps, the rustle of fabric telling her he’s no longer exposed. She turns around to face him but finds she can’t meet his eyes. 

“Sorry about that,” She mumbles. “I didn’t realize you were—"

“Already forgotten,” he insists. 

Easy for him to say. What would not be forgotten is the image of his toned muscles. Still, she gives him a grateful smile. 

“So what exactly were you doing up this early?”

It’s his turn to mumble. “Well, you see, I was ah, well um, okay since we’re going to be doing a lot of walking and you’re so spry, I thought I’d do some training of my own.” he brings a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Gotta stay in good physical shape and all that…” he trails off, chuckling awkwardly. 

She doesn’t tell him from her brief glimpse it seems like he’s in perfect shape. “Oh okay, cool.” 

“Yeah.” he flips their conversation. “What about you? What were you doing up?” 

“I usually get up this early,” she points out. “Besides, I woke up and you were no were to be found and I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get eaten by a creature of some sort.”

“Aww, Pidge, you were worried about me?” he clasps a hand to his chest. “I’m so very flattered.” 

“I was not!” she’s quick to defend. “I just think it would reflect badly on me if I don’t manage to return the prince of Katolis.”

Lance shrugs, bruising past her as he makes his way back to camp. “Whatever you say.” He winks. “We both know the truth.” 

She’s about to yell at him but he’s already out of sight. She grumbles all the way back through the trees, taking out her frustration on a poor sapling along the way. 

Her anger however is soon forgotten as she smells the heavenly aroma of sizzling pork, and is greeted with a warm breakfast. 

He may be just a prince, but boy does he know how to cook. 

༄༅

The sun is hidden behind some clouds, giving the travelers some reprieve. Katie wipes her brow, readjusting the pack on her back. Beside her, Lance lets out a dramatic sigh. 

“It’s too hot,” he exclaims, a hand pressed to his forehead. “I’m going to die.” 

“You’re not going to die,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “But I agree we should take a break.” 

“Now?” he looks confused. “We still have at least an hour of daylight!” 

She squints at the sun beginning to peak out from its hiding spot. “Our bodies aren’t used to this heat, Lance, and if we keep going, we might actually be at risk of dying. Let’s camp here for the night and take some time to relax.” 

“Well in that case, I’m going to go practice some moves,” he points behind them. “Over there.” 

“Wait!” she calls out before she can stop herself. Lance turns, and with the look on his face she knows there's no chance she’ll be able to back out of this one. “If you want to train, we could do it together?” 

He perks up. “Really?” 

“Really.” Her pack drops down by her side. “Show me what you’ve got.” 

Like an eager puppy, Lance sheds his travelling gear and drops low, his hands raised to protect his face.

“You have a good stance,” She remarks, circling him. 

“Thanks,” he preens. “Shiro was a stickler for stances.” 

“I said good,” she faces him, one eyebrow quirked. “Not perfect.” 

He doesn’t even have time to look shocked before she drops to one knee, sweeping her leg under his. Lance topples unceremoniously to the ground.” 

“And that,” she says while offering her hand. “Is the leg sweep. Effective, but not practical. To do it, you have to lower our guard and put yourself in a vulnerable position, so really only try and do it if your partner is… less than capable.” She says it with a smile. 

“Har har har, very funny.” He accepts her help to stand and brushes off his trousers. He squares up, and she takes a moment to admire his form. “Again.” 

And so it continues, again and again, until Lance lies panting, sprawled out on the ground. He rises to his knees, only to hit the earth with a fist, muttering a list of curses, half of which are new to Katie.

“I’m sorry, I pushed too hard.” She grabs his hand and helps him to his feet. “Let’s go back to camp before it gets dark.” 

“No.” His tone is one used to ordering. “We keep on training. I can take it.” 

“Lance, we’re tired and hungry.” She tries tugging on his sleeve but the prince won’t be moved. “We can train again tomorrow. You’re no use to anyone if you're injured, which is what you’re going to be if we don’t stop.” 

Still, he stands his ground. A small part of her is impressed that he won’t budge, but it's overshadowed by her growing impatience. 

“Why?” she pleads. “Why do you have to push yourself like this?” 

“I just don’t want to feel helpless again. When I saved us with magic, it felt so freeing.” 

She frowns. “You’re not helpless Lance.”

He huffs. “Feels that way.” 

“We all have our uses. Yours are in different places than mine. Like the arts and connecting with people.” She tries for a smile. “Just leave the fighting stuff to me.” 

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” 

“Come again?” She’s confused and hurt by his tone. Why is he getting so aggressive? 

“I’m just not sure that's the best idea. Look, you don’t have the best track record when it comes to avoiding conflict, so I’d rather not risk our attempts at a peaceful journey in the hands of a violence loving elf.” 

“What’s that's supposed to mean?” 

“It means,” he says with a sneer. “That somewhere in the future, I’m probably going to have to save your reckless ass again from villagers you provoked” 

“How dare you—”

He raises his hands. “I just want to protect you.” 

“I don’t need to be coddled!” 

“Are you sure about that?” he shoots back. 

“In case you’ve forgotten I’m a trained assassin!” she flicks out her blades for emphasis. “I can hold my own!” 

Lance snorts. “No, I haven’t forgotten. I haven’t forgotten the fear in my brothers eyes as you held a knife to his throat.” 

She flinches, moving her drawn swords behind her back, a futile attempt to hide them. Shame builds in her gut. “I understand that you’re still upset—”

“Do you though?” he practically seethes, getting up from the log and stalking over to her, his eyes a blaze. “Do you know what it's like to have your brother inches away from death and be helpless to do anything?” Before she can respond, he cuts her off. “No, you probably don’t, because you’re an elf. Ruthless and unfeeling. You probably eat your babies or something.” 

_“Stars_ , I thought we were past this!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “You’re a human and I’m an elf. We’re supposed to hate each other but somehow we were making it work. To think I actually was beginning to think…” she trails off, suddenly very aware of Lance staring at her. 

“Think what?” he asks, no anger in his voice anymore. His remorse is written as plain as day over his face. 

She takes a deep breath. “That we might actually be becoming friends.” Katie blinks back her tears. She will not cry in front of him, prince or not. Her pride says no. 

“Pidge—”

“And for the record, we aren’t as cruel and heartless as you make us out to be. The person we’re looking for—Matthew? He’s my brother. So I know exactly how you felt, except mine was actually taken from me.” 

She can’t look at him. Now when she knows one look into those eyes will melt all her anger. She gets to be upset, she deserves to be angry. But was she right in directing her anger at Lance? Or was the prince just collateral damage? 

“Look, I just need to be alone right now.”

“I understand.” 

Of course he understands. Stars, why is he so caring, yet makes her blood boil at the same time? 

  
  
  
༄༅  
  
  


Katie stretches out, relishing the feeling of the grass under her fingers. In the distance, she hears the roar of a river. She shivers as she remembers the feeling of being dragged under by strong waves, unable to breath, to swim to the surface. She thought she was going to die there, alone. 

But then Lance saved her. He risked everything to help her, elf or not. 

She groans in frustration, rubbing her face in her hand before letting them flop uselessly by her sides. She tugs at the bond in her mind, just to reassure it’s still intact. 

_He’s still alive_ , she tells herself. _He’s still alive._

Stars, how she wishes her brother was here now. If there was anyone she could always rely on, it was him. And Keith, but he was not as skilled with matters of the heart as her brother. What she would give to talk to Matt, get his advice, hear his laugh again. She smiles as she imagines their conversation. 

_Hey Matt, I’m on this quest with a human prince to find you and free you from Haggar's grip. Things were going fine, until we fought and things were said and I don’t know what to do._

_You’re an idiot_ , he would say shaking his head slightly. _My little sister is an idiot._

She would punch him in the arm and he’d pretend to be hurt even though it didn’t really. _Enlighten me as to why I don’t get your sympathy?_

_You’ve always been bad at forgiving._ A classic redirect move. _How about you try a little harder._

_Not what I wanted to hear. How about some words of wisdom?_

She can imagine the look on his face, slightly exasperated and yet amused at the same time. 

_You need to look inside your heart._ It’s said with such simplicity she almost lets it slide as a good piece of advice. That was Matt for you. Able to charm anyone into thinking anything if he wanted to. That is, when he isn’t painfully awkward. 

_What are you talking about?_ Her brows furrow. 

_Well Katie, if you can’t figure that out for yourself, I guess you’ll never know._ He’d ruffle her hair before running away to join Keith and the others in a sparring session or something like that. 

Katie finds herself smiling, even though she’s more confused than before. _You need to look inside your heart Katie_. What does that mean? Look into her heart and find what? Her brother? Keith? Their home? 

Instead of focusing those words any longer, she redirects her attention to his first piece of advice. It's true, she has a short temper and holds grudges much too long. When Keth ate the last of her pudding, she didn’t speak to him for 3 quintants. And even then, nothing but one word responses for the better half of a phoeb. 

So maybe she can try harder. And maybe she can start with Lance. 

The sound of footsteps alert her to someone's presence. No, not someone's, _Lance’s_. Speak of the devil. 

“Hey.” His voice is quiet, and she hears the grass rustle underneath his feet as he approaches her. Her eyes stay trained on the stars, on the clear night sky, the wind whipping at her hair. 

He groans as he lies down next to her, their heads nearly touching. “I’m sorry,” he says after a moment. “I didn’t know.” 

“You couldn’t have,” she replies. “I never told you.” 

“But still—” 

“It’s okay Lance.” She reaches down, intertwining their fingers. He gives her hand a squeeze back. 

“Thank you.” 

She clears her throat. “The stars sure are beautiful aren’t they?” 

“Yeah,” he sounds dreamy, and she wonders if he’s remembering a time from his childhood, from when he was just a prince of a human kingdom, not a care in the world. “Hey Pidge?” 

She turns on her side, surprised when she finds him facing her. In this position their foreheads are almost touching and she’s suddenly glad it's dark and he can’t see her flush. “Yeah?” by some miracle her voice comes out steady. 

“We are friends, you know that right?” he gives her hand a little squeeze and she squeezes back, a little smile dancing on her face. 

“I know.” 

He lets out a sigh of relief. “Then as your friend, I swear to you we will find your brother.” he reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “No matter the cost I make it my sworn duty to see you reunited again.” 

A tear trickles down her face and she wipes at it with her free hand. She wants to tell him how much his words mean to her, how much she needed to hear them, but any attempt at talking would result in a voice crack, followed by many hours of incoherent sobbing. So instead she brings two fingers to her brow.

He may not know their culture, but she knows he understands. 

He always does. 

༄༅

Katie missed the forest. She misses the over from the trees and the mostly flat ground. The rocky pathway makes her feet ache, and the mountain they’ve been climbing for a quintant only seems to be getting bigger. 

At least the sun was hiding behind some clouds.

“Say Pidge,” Lance muses as they hike up the mountain. “If you could be anything in the world, what would you be?” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” 

It’s a lie. A total lie, but in her defence if Lance knew her hopes and dreams he’d probably laugh. And something about him laughing at her makes her stomach roil. Why should she care what he thinks of her?

“Humor me.” 

She sighs, tapping her finger against her chin. “Okay, but you have to promise not to laugh at me.” 

He stands still, one hand on his chest the other raised in the air. “I so solemnly swear to not laugh.” 

His face is dead serious but there's that twinkle in his eyes that tells her he’s just being dramatic.

After a moment of thought she admits, “I think I would have liked to be a princess.” 

Lance makes a noise as if he's choking, his face quickly turning red. She rolls her eyes. “You can laugh.” 

The effect is immediate, his howl echoing across the valley. When he finally calms down, wiping a tear from his eye, she gives him a disappointed look. 

“Are you done?” 

“Quite.” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. “But why a princess?” he looks her up and down. “You’re not exactly the most… elegant of creatures.” 

She pouts. “Offensive but I see your point. I guess you just want to have what you can’t” 

Growing up as an assassin was never the most ‘girly’ of things, but it never really bothered her. Her mother would read her stories about princesses who go to balls and dance with their princes, and she would complain that she the girls were stupid to give up their freedom for a man. 

_That's because you’ve never met the right man,_ her mother had replied, stroking her hair. _For the right man, you would dance the night away._

_Never! I won’t drop my swords for a skirt and frills._

Colleen just smiled, laughing softly. _Oh my dear Katie. The right man wouldn’t ask you to._

“Fair enough.” Lance's voice breaks her out of the memory. “Grass is always greener on the other side.” 

“Come again?” She asks, confused. The grass should be greener on the side you’re on, since you’re there to take care of it. 

“It’s a saying, like if you have grass, and you look over at your neighbor, their grass looks greener, so you want your grass even though you have your own grass.” She must look as lost as she felt because Lance just pats her head. “Never mind then.”

She gives him a relieved smile. “And you princeling?” She quirks a brow. “What would you be if you weren’t so royal?” 

“A bird.” 

He sounded so certain yet her ears beg to differ. “A bird?” 

“Yes!” Lance skips ahead, his arms outstretched like giant wings. She laughs at his raw joy, as he spins in circles. “I don’t want to be tethered to this earth, I want—no, I _need_ to explore and spread my wings. I want to fly Pidge.” He crashes on his knees in front of her, grasping her hands to his and pressing them to his heart. “I feel it in here, this urge to go out and be more than I am.” 

Something in her heart flutters, because she knows _exactly_ how he feels. Katie removes one of her hands from his grasp and uses it to cup his cheek, pleasantly surprised when he leans into her touch. “Well then, Lance McClain, let me tell you a secret. You are so much more than I originally thought. In a good way.” 

He grins up at her, his smile dazzling enough to blind. “You’re not too bad yourself.” 

༄༅

A few days later, they’re back in the forests, the trees providing some cover from the pouring rain. They made the decision after a day in a cave, that they couldn’t wait any longer for the storm to pass. So here they are, wet but thankfully not cold, trekking through the brush. 

Lance seems in high spirits, a quirky tune coming from his lips. Katie has to admit it makes the whole journey easier, listening to whatever song he’s singing. 

“You must like music,” She comments. 

He stops humming. “Huh?”

“You’re always singing and stuff. Did you take music classes at the palace of something?” 

“Nope,” he pops the p. “I’m just singing anything that comes to me.” 

“Well, it's nice,” She admits softly, missing the way Lance’s smile softens. “I like it.” 

He clears his throat loudly. “I seem to remember you asking me to shut up while I was trying to serenade you with a traditional Katolian classic.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Please. We both know how annoying that song is. So repetitive I thought my head was about to explode. Plus, I was mad at you.” 

“Fair enough,” he chuckles, and they continue on their way for a while before he asks, “Do you have any elfy tunes to share?” 

She thinks for a moment. “I have one that my father used to sing.” His gaze prompts her to continue, so she pushes down all her fears and begins the song. 

The melody is slow and calming, gaining momentum with each verse. The words are in her native tongue, a language now thought to be dead, but Lance doesn't seem to mind. Her voice tapers off on the last note, holding it a tic longer. 

“It’s beautiful.” he says after a long moment. “What’s it about?” 

“A boy who fell in love with a star.” she explains. “And though their love was stronger than any mountain, it could not pull him up to her.” 

“That’s… tragic.”

She nods in agreement. It was. 

“But the words are beautiful. Especially in that last verse. Would you… would you say them again for me?”

“Et amor noster mel raumo ana tai resistunt veritati, let our love be a storm to those who oppose us.” she translates. 

“What’s that you’re doing with your hand?” hs asks and she looks down to see her she’s moving it in a figure eight like pattern. 

“Oh, it's just something my father did. I guess I picked it up from him.” 

Lance shrugs. “Well if you’re going to learn, you might as well learn right.” He starts mimicking her hand movements and closes his eyes in concentration. “Et amor noster,” His one eye cracks open. “What's the last bit again?” 

“Mel raumo ana tai resistunt veritati.” 

“Yup, not even going to try for that middle section.” He takes a deep breath, regaining his focus. “Blah blah blah, resistunt veritati.”

At once, the winds and rain pick up, whipping around her. She watches in horror as a blue light is drawn from Lance’s finger, creating the shape of a rune. 

_Stars,_ she had recklessly given him all the tools to cast a spell. 

Lighting crackles off his body, ricocheting into the trees. The wind howls in her ears, the water drops stinging her cheeks as they cut past her. 

But it's his eyes that scare her the most; devoid of their usual blue and glowing like the sun—no, like a star, she realizes with a start. She had thought his magic had been akin to the sun, with the bright light he’d displayed at the village, but now she realizes it could have been related to something. And if she’s right, which she prays she’s not, that would mean…. 

“Lance?” she calls, her voice drowned out in the pouring rain. “Lance, stop!” 

He doesn’t listen, she doesn’t even think he _hears_ her. At this rate the magic he’s using will burn through his body and kill him. But she’s not going to let him die. Not on her watch, not after they’ve come so far. 

If she can somehow break his connection to the magic, it might be enough to snap him out of the spell. 

Throwing all caution to the wind, she takes a deep breath before hurling herself at Lance, tackling him down.

They topple to the ground in a heap, and she scrambles off his body. 

“Lance?” she slaps his face, trying to control her breathing. “Lance, wake up!” 

Nothing, then a cough and a sputer. His eyes open and she lets out a sob of relief when they’re their normal sapphire hue. 

She flings her arms around his neck, and he responds immediately, one arm around her waist, the other hand on her head, pulling her to him. “I thought I’d lost you,” she whispers. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.” 

“I won't,” he promises. “I thumb pact I won’t” 

Her sob turns into a laugh and he pulls away enough for her to crawl off his lap. “See? There’s that smile I lov—like so much.” 

She punches him in the arm. “I mean it. No more magic.” 

He grabs her hand and presses the pad of his thumb to hers. “I mean it too.” 

It takes a bit, but eventually they both get back on their feet. Katie takes the lead, cutting down the long grass-like plants in their path. 

“Do you have any happier songs?” Lance asks, jumping over a log in their path. 

“After what just happened, I won’t be teaching you any of my songs any time soon.” A smile plays on her lips. “But you’re welcome to teach me one of yours.” 

Lance’s signature grin spreads on his face. “As you wish.” 

He hums a bit of a tune, and she hums it back, until it becomes a full song. Upbeat and happy, it's hard to resist the urge to stomp her feet and dance around. Lance seems to feel it too, because he grabs her hand and pulls her towards him.

She lets out a laugh, allowing him to spin her around, the raindrops in her hair flying in all directions, before they move back and forth, a bounce in their steps. Lance crouches low, spinning around on one leg, and she begins to move her hips back and forth, swishing her imaginary skirts. 

His hands are on her hips and he’s lifting her up over his head, spinning round and round. When her feet hit the floor again, she grabs his hand, using to to propel herself around, leaping into the air. He gets the memo, catching her before letting her go, sending her backwards. She lands easily in a curtsy, and he tips an invisible hat. 

“Now where did you learn to dance like that?” he asks, panting for breath

She shrugs. “I am an elf of many mysteries.” 

He throws a stick at her which she easily avoids. “Cruel woman.” 

Her laugh is soon joined by his, and that night, she doesn’t think once about the magic incident, and goes to sleep with a smile on her face. 

༄༅

“We’re being followed.” Lance announces one morning as they’re packing up camp. 

“And you know this how?” she asks, raising a brow. 

Lance picks up a stick, twirling it as if it was a sword. “One of my late step-father's attempts to bond with me was taking me hunting.” He stabs at the air. “I did more of the tracking then hunting. Apparently I was quite skilled at it.”

She nods, thinking. “Well, this is unsettling.” 

Lance's grim expression matches her own. “That's not the worst part. From the looks of it, whoever it is has already caught up with us, and is just watching. Waiting.” 

Her skin crawls at the idea. “What are they waiting for?” 

“Who knows?” He shrugs. “But I’m not about to wait around and find out.” 

She nods in agreement. “Then let’s be prepared.” 

“How?” 

“Watch duty,” she says. “We alternate shifts, take turns keeping an eye out for whoever our mystery stalker is.” 

“Beautiful and smart,” he muses. “I like the way you think.” 

Her face flushes at his words, and she struggles to regain her composer. Lance doesn’t seem fazed by the words he let slip—either that or he didn’t notice, but she takes a few deep breaths. No one has ever called her that before, and she doesn't know if she enjoys the fluttering feeling in her stomach. 

“Anyways,” she says, shouldering her pack. “Do you want the first watch?” 

“Sure thing.” He grabs his own. “Shall we?” 

She nods, leading the way into the thicket. The fuzzy feeling in her heart stays all day. 

༄༅

Katie is starting to feel discouraged. A whole movement has passed since the discovery of their followers, but still no sign of them. Running on half the sleep has definitely put a damper on their moods, and their once cheery journey has been filled with grumbling and complaining. 

She moves closer to the dying embers of their fire and casts a glance at Lance. One thing she’s discovered is how peaceful the prince looks when he’s sleeping. Gone are the lines of worry and doubt that make him look twice his age at times. She hopes he has good dreams of being back at the castle in a warm bed.

Her stomach growls, and she pokes at the fire. The noise from grabbing something from their packs would surely wake up Lance, but she does remember seeing a bush of berries a little ways back. 

It would be a quick trip, no more than a few doboshes. As quietly as possible, she slips away, determined not to leave Lance alone for longer than necessary. 

Her footsteps crunch in the darkness, and she hops into a tree, gliding through the branches like water over rocks. Maybe this isn’t exactly what Lance had menat, but to her it was pretty damn close to flying. 

The wind in her hair, moon on her back, it's as if she can go anywhere. She’s beginning to enjoy herself, until a sound pierces her ears and sends her tumbling to the ground.

A scream. High pitched enough to be mistaken for female, but Katie knows better. _Lance_.

Fear grips at her spine as she sprints back to camp, her quest for food forgotten. She never should have left him alone. Not with the stalker on the loose. Stars, she's a fool.

In one leap, she bounds into their camp, blades drawn, ready to confront anyone who dared attack them. 

Lance lies on the ground, alive and well—that is except for the figure sitting on his chest, the tip of a sword pressed to the hollow of his throat. 

Her shoulders sag in relief and she sheaths her own weapons. For she’d recognize that blade anywhere. 

“Seriously?” she doesn’t try to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “You followed me? Isn’t that a little too over protective?” 

“Yeah, she has a problem with people being too overbearing,” Lance quips up, a straggled squeak working its way out of his throat as his captor growls at him. 

“Oh for stars sake Keith!” She opens her arms, unable to stay annoyed at him any longer. “Get off the prince and come give me a hug!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! ngl, i was getting frustrated with lance and pidge and just wanted them to kiss already...alas we're going to have to wait a little longer for that. 
> 
> things are about to get interesting, so buckle up and stay tuned for the next chapter by the lovely ashka! 
> 
> [Ashka's Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/ashkazora) | [Rosie's Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/rosieclark)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Figures. 
> 
> Pidge was just like everyone else. They all find someone better eventually.
> 
> She pauses - that Lance can hear - but as her footsteps grow fainter and fainter does he notice a new crack in their fragile friendship. It was easy to overestimate how important he is to Pidge.
> 
> How could Lance forget? He's just a dumb, idiotic human. 
> 
> And no one will ever let him forget it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Ashka here. It's been a while. Sorry about that!
> 
> I've had this chapter 90% done for /months/ but unfortunately school swamped me so bad that I couldn't finish it. Luckily I've just graduated and finally have the time to finish the chapter and post it! So yeah! Expect regular updates from me from now on since, y'know, I have nothing to do for the next four months lmao.
> 
> Also, remember when I said back in chapter 2 that I wouldn't write a longer chapter? Well, this chapter is longer. Around 13k. Enjoy.
> 
> As always, massive shoutout to Rosie for helping me with this chapter, and putting up with my lateness. <3
> 
> Since this chapter is so long I might have missed any errors, so please let me know if there's any spelling errors/mistakes/formatting issues with this chapter!
> 
> Anyways, onto the chapter!

** ༄༅ **

You'd think after hanging out with a very sword-happy Moonshadow assassin one would get used to being randomly attacked by elves, right?

Wrong.

Just like when Pidge took his step-brother hostage and put a gilded blade to his throat, just like in training when Shiro would disarm him when they'd use actual swords, a white-hot bolt of terror shot down Lance's spine as _another_ sword dug into the meat of his neck. His whole body has been frozen in fear, yet again did he feel so helpless at his situation. The blade had been pressed so harshly against his skin that every swallow cut thinly into his Adam's apple; now he knew what Hunk felt like.

Anger at his inaction burned through his body. He was supposed to be stronger now that he had magic! Now that he had found something for himself, something that he was good, no, better at than anyone else, the prince thought that his usual position of being a damsel in distress would be a thing of the past. 

And yet, here Lance was, pinned down by a stranger who supposedly knew Pidge, fearing once again for his life. 

_Stars,_ he really was a coward, wasn't he?

With his back pressed to the floor, Lance grunts as the weight of the stranger hurriedly lifts off of him. He rolls away, pointedly ignoring as he (Keith, was it?) rushed over to Pidge.

But Lance didn't care! Nuh-uh, not one bit. He kneels, brushing the dirt and grass off of his back, and carefully examines every linen thread for specks of dirt and grime. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees the two embrace like old friends.

As Pidge scoops the boy in a large and hearty hug, Lance can’t help but to glare at this ‘Keith’ fellow. It’s not like he doesn’t trust him but…

…okay, Lance doesn’t trust him.

And who can blame him! As he inspects Keith, Lance comes to the conclusion that Keith looks rather weird. Unlike Pidge, he only has a lone Moonshadow mark curving purple over his left cheek, and no other visible elven blemishing. His horns are also strange, not white like the Moonshadow elves in Lance’s history books but rather a deep purple, just like his indigo eyes. The elf can't be much older than himself, but who knew? Apparently, elves aged slower than humans, though that's probably an old wives tale rather than fact.

And maybe Lance is reaching. Maybe he’s being irrational. But the way Keith looks at Pidge, with something so deep that he can barely fathom, it doesn't sit well with him. He tells himself that he's just being an overprotective friend.

As a shout rocks the mage from his thoughts, Lance realises that amid his musings he must've tuned out the two elves' conversations.

"I've been looking all over for you! Where have you been?!" Keith cries out, his voice similar to Pidge's distinct Moonshadow twang yet a little bit more gravelly. It's strange and new and he doesn't like it. 

Pidge laughs, something soft and easy that makes Lance's stomach flutter. 

"Well, we _were_ heading to the northern border, but a movement or so ago we ran into some, uh, _troubles_ with a river."

_"We?"_ Suddenly, Keith turns towards him, staring Lance up and down as if he was some sort of annoying child. "Where did you pick this runt up from?"

Immediately Last bristles. How dare Keith just stroll into their lives, attack him, and then call him a runt! Hell, as he stood up straighter, Lance swore he must be at _least_ a couple centimetres taller. At least!

If Pidge notices his rage, she doesn't react to it. "Oh, Lance? Yeah, he's the Katolian step-prince."

Keith scoffs. “A _human_ prince?!" he asks incredulously, and Lance can’t help but to feel offended. “Really, Pidge, who do you hang out with these days?”

“Yeah, he’s a bit of an idiot,” Pidge replies with a fond sort of smile, but Lance doesn’t see it. A white fog clouds his vision. 

"I'm not an idiot!" he cries, throwing his hands up in annoyance. But the elves don't seem to hear him (or at least don't react). The blatant ignorance serves only to rile him up even more. Who was this guy, flouncing in and randomly brushing him off? Lance was the step-prince, for star's sake, shouldn't this dumbass of an elf show him some respect?!

It's only when Keith leans closer, bending his legs slightly so that he's face-to-face with Pidge, that the prince's ire blows completely out of control.

_Oh no you don't!_

Rolling up his sleeves, thousands of angered thoughts runs through Lance's mind as he stomps towards them. Before the elf can get any closer to Pidge he darts in between them, sending Keith stumbling back with a heart push.

"Get away from her!" he growls. "Don't come any closer, _elf."_

Keith sneers. "Oh, yeah? What, you gonna scream again if I do?" 

The challenge bites at Lance's soul. His fingers twitch - the urge to cast a spell buzzing through his nerves. If it weren't for his promise with Pidge, he would have cast _sidus luceat_ at Keith in a heartbeat, side-effects be damned. 

"You've got a real nerve, showing up here and getting all buddy-buddy with Pidge. Who do you think you are?!"

Truthfully, Lance has no idea why he's so worked up about Keith's appearance, but there was something so... _infuriating,_ about how close he was with her, that triggered something deep within him.

"Lance, please-" Pidge interjects, maybe trying to diffuse the situation, though the two pay her no mind as he takes a step closer to him, eyes alight with purple flames. 

“Oh yeah?" Keith has the audacity to sound mocking, "And who do you think _you_ are, _human?"_

"I'm-"

_"Shut it! Both of you!”_ Pidge's shout rings loudly through the clearing. Both of the boys recoil as if they'd been hit, each taking a few steps back from their literal head-to-head argument.

She advances on them, her snarl more ferocious than Lance had ever seen in his life. Even Keith pales a shade, if that was even possible. 

"What has gotten into you two?! How is it that you've only just met and you're already started this dumb dick-measuring contest?"

Keith hangs his head, looking down at his feet, while Lance's eyes wonder past her in embarrassment. It was remarkable how much Pidge resembled a dragon in that moment - ferocious and downright _terrifying._

"For once in your life Keith, _play nice._ Who cares if he's a human, you of all people should know better."

_Huh, odd wording._

For a quick moment Lance's eyes dart to Keith as he tries to gauge his reaction. Yet the other boy barely moves a muscle at Pidge's onslaught, save for the slightest twitch in his jaw. 

"And _you-"_ Lance flinches as she turns her burning stare onto him, "what in the star's name are you doing?! Keith's my friend, dumbass, don't be so rude to him!"

He's jaw drops, slightly offended. "Well I'm sor _ry_ that I'm not so friendly with the chap who, I dunno, _attacked me!"_

To his side Keith scoffed, and Lance found himself almost rising to the bait. In fact, he probably would have, if not for Pidge continuing her relentless tirade. 

"So? I attacked you, and you didn't see me getting all up in your face."

Lance raises a finger, confusion written blatantly across his face. If he remembered correctly, that's _exactly_ how their first days of journeying together went. Come to think of it, didn't she threaten him with bodily harm multiple times? 

"Well, actually-" The deadpan glare she shoots Lance manages to shut him up. "Never mind," he murmurs meekly. "I'll play nice, even if your friend here attacked me first."

With that admission, Pidge shoots him a grateful smile.

"Thank you."

_Well then._ Keith gives himself a self-satisfied smirk and _hoo-boy_ does that get on ever one of Lance’s last nerves.

"Pidge," Lance interrupts as he feels his anger boil over, reaching out to grab at her hand, "who is this idiot?"

The Moonshadow assassin takes a deep breath. "Keith is a close friend of mine. He came to our town when we were just kids. We basically grew up together."

"Then how come I've never heard you mention any 'Keiths?'" Giving the boy a side-eye, Lance leaned in closely, lifting his hand so that no one could read his lips. _"And why does he look so weird?"_ he whispers.

Pidge shoots him an ever exasperated frown. 

"Don't judge him, Lance." She says, gripping at his hand harder than necessary. "Can you please get along with him, for me?"

"Get along? But why? He isn't-" 

"Joining you guys?" From behind him, Keith swings an arm across his shoulders in a facsimile motion of camaraderie. "You bet I am. There's no way I'm letting Katie out of my sights from now on."

Lance's brain glitches. 

_Katie?!_

Who was _that?_

His answer comes quickly as Pidge punches the other elf's shoulder. "Ugh, hearing my name after all this time is so weird."

"Wait wait wait, your name is _Katie?_ Not Pidge?" 

But _(once again!)_ she ignores his question, instead looping her arms around Keith and dragging the boy off of Lance. 

"C'mon, Keith, I've got so many things to catch you up on." She says. "Did you know that the castle in Katolis is so badly guarded? Like, you can just sneak right in and..."

Lance watches as Pidge (or is it Katie?) and Keith walk away, hand in hand, and feels an emptiness bubble inside of him. His heart beats fast, yet his whole body seems cold. As Lance stands in the middle of the clearing, alone, he finally comes to the realisation that maybe he doesn't know Pidge as well as he thought.

And that...

That scares him.

** ༄༅ **

If Lance thought travelling with one Moonshadow Elf would be hard to get used to, two was an absolute _nightmare._

It takes him exactly two hours to realise that everything he thought he knew about Pidge and elves has been thrown out the window. All the preconceptions he built in his head based entirely off of the lone elf he knew? Gone. Kaput. Blown up in the upper stratosphere.

Because if there's one thing Lance knows now, it's that Keith is the absolute opposite of Pidge.

It starts as small observations - where she's less attentive with her surroundings and sole narrow-focused on one particular goal, Keith's constantly at it. The smallest twitches, softest birdsong, even that one time when Lance accidentally steps on a twig trying to make his way back to their sleeping huddle in the middle of a night, the elf instantly picks up on it. In the latter case, not only did he notice Lance's approach but proceed to leap at him, straddling his thick legs around the prince's throat until Pidge woke up from the commotion and managed to pry him off.

As then there's the whole manner and demeanours Lance associates with Moonshadow Elves. On the surface Pidge and Keith are both pretty similar - closed off, cautious, direct and brash when it comes to human (or elf) interaction and everyday tasks - but as the prince gets to know Keith better the more similarities fade.

While it only took a near-death experience for him to warm up to Pidge, Keith seems as frosty as he did on the first day that they met. Always rude and never kind, Keith's words never held the same friendly banter that Pidge's did, rather an intense bite that held more vigour than a fire.

It's around midday, and they've stopped for a quick lunch break. Despite the sun that hangs lazily in the air, shining thick rays of glow onto the dappled Katolean forest, the air hovers cool, a chilly zephyr darting in and out of tree trunks.

Lance had plopped himself down next to where Pidge sat under a moonberry bush. They were bunching on the last of a lump of almost-stale bread they had gotten from their adventure at the human village. Despite it being the worst quality bread he’s had in his life, the change from his usual travelling diet of berries and badly skinned squirrels is a welcome change.

Keith, unsurprisingly, is nowhere to be seen. 

For some reason, almost every food break the mysterious Moonshadow Elf always slinked off to who-knows-where. Like too often, Keith’s not there, leaving Lance and Pidge to hang by themselves.

Lance bites into the bread, trying not to gag at the bland, dry taste.

He took it back. He’d take moonberries over this _any day._

“Hey, Lance,” Pidge pipes up from beside him, “d’you mind if I borrow your jacket?” she says, nodding solfy to the dark-olive fabric that hung around his elbows. 

  
Lance furrows his eyebrows, but he’s already halfway into taking it off. “How come?” he asks, taking off the jacket and handing it to her. Immediately, a fresh gust of wind billows sofly in between the trees, sending goosebumps up his arms. Pidge smirks as he shivers.

“Sucker.” Grinning, she puts on his jacket and punches his arm sofly. Lance scoffs, though something holds him back from replying. Seeing Pidge in his jacket is… weird, to say the least.

He shivers again as the wind around them picks up. 

Suddenly, an idea pops into Lance's head. An idea of the no-so-human, possibly-magic variety.

_"Ugh,_ Pidge," he moans, voice wavering slightly from the frosty air, "can you please let up on your little rules on magic? I'm _cold."_

Pidge turns her head to look at him, but it's Keith who responds.

"Magic?" The Moonshadow elf asks, tilting his head in confusion. "What do you mean, _magic?_ Pidge is shocking at that sort of stuff."

Pidge snaps her head over to where Keith is standing at the edge of the clearing, oddly flustered at his claim. Her face is slightly red, whether from the cold or from embarrassment Lance doesn't know. 

Somehow, Keith had managed to sneak up on them. The thought of Keith _watching_ them, makes the prince feel strangely embarrassed. 

"Well, it turns out that our resident human here is actually pretty talented at magic. And by pretty talented, I mean knowing exactly two spells, none of which he's done more than once."

Keith's intense gaze swivels onto the prince. Disbelief shines in his odd purple eyes; his mouth is pinched like he doesn't know whether to laugh or call Lance out. Unfortunately, the elf chooses the latter.

_“Magic?_ But you're _human."_ He says, skepticism tinging every word.

Lance grins. Now's the chance to show Keith up. Or, at least, show off.

"Well, my friend, you see," Lance stands up, ignoring his knapsack that falls to the ground in a pathetic heap, "I know a thing or two about a couple runes." He sauntered over to the pair, swagger filling every step. Pidge covers her face with a hand, this time definitely in embarrassment. "Y'know the good old _Sidus Luceat?"_

Raising an eyebrow, Keith still looks rather disbelieving. "The light spell? _You_ know _that?"_

"Somehow, he does." Pidge interjects. Lance goes to grin at her, but it dies the moment he sees her forehead creased in a classic 'I'm-thinking-about-something' expression. "Who would have thought humans knew magic?"

"Huh." Suddenly, Keith springs to his feet. Without further hesitation the elf pokes Lance in the cheek, ignoring the human's pained _'ow!'_

"Are you sure he's human?" Looking over to Pidge, Keith queried, "Maybe he's just another Moonshadow elf with a glamour spell on him."

_Uh, rude!_ Offended, Lance brings a scandalous hand to his chest, before Keith's words are properly processed in his head. 

"Wait a minute, did you say _glamour magic?!"_

But like their last interaction, Keith pays him no mind and blatantly ignores him. 

_Wow, this kid needs to learn some manners,_ Lance thinks. If Keith ever wanted to go to the castle in Katolis, he'd certainly have to learn a thing or two about being kind, polite, and most importantly of all, respectful.

(Then again, considering Keith was in fact an elf, Lance doubted the boy would ever get to step one foot into the castle sans another blind mission like Pidge had done).

"Where did you get him again? A village near The Breach?"

Lance scoffs. _As if!_

"Actually-"

"I'm the prince of Katolis, for your information. And I'll have you know that you're being totally disrespectful right now!" Cutting pidge off, Lance crosses his arms, staring down at the two elves from the tip of his nose.

Immediately, Pidge smacks her palm against her forehead, leaving a rather red handprint on her pale skin. 

Keith looks at Pidge, then at Lance, and then back again to Pidge. "You've got to be kidding me." He says, with a tone Lance can't quite identify. "A prince. A human prince. Of Katolis."

A brown eye peeks out from Pidge's fingers.

"Yes..." she mutters.

For a moment Lance thinks that Keith is going to blow up just like he did before to him, but then the elf laughs - hearty and full of mirth.

_"Stars,_ Katie, you're always choosing the hard ones, huh?"

Keith's uncaringness, uninterest in him makes the prince do a double take. No, there's no way Keith should be laughing it off right now, where merely that very morning he had taken such a large offense to Lance's heritage.

“Wh _aaa_ t, what’re you talking about?” Pidge replies, her voice oddly pitched.

For a long moment Lance watches as the two elves stare at each other, seemingly having a silent conversation. Keith’s eyebrow raises slightly then Pidge frowns. Feeling somewhat left out Lance goes to clear his throat, but before he can Keith breaks his intense stare with Pidge.

“Whatever. Let’s get moving.” Keith says, as gruffly as always. 

Lance feels as if he’s missed half of the conversation. “Wait, what-”

“C’mon, we gotta get going,” Keith says, completely cutting Lance off. 

The prince scoffs, but as he watches Keith brush past him like he’s _not_ the prince (step-prince) of Katolis doesn’t sit right with.

Faintly, as Pidge follows her friend past him, Lance hears her agree.

A thousand thoughts race through his head. Why is Keith so taken aback that he can do magic? _Loads_ of humans could, right? _(But they’re all dark magic mages_ , a little voice in his head responds, _they’re not like you.)_

Keith must be jealous, right? Lance knows that not all elves are particularly gifted in magic, so Keith has to be jealous of his skills, or angry that he’s a human that can do magic. (If he isn’t, then, well, Lance has to accept the fact that not only does he not fit in with humans, but elves as well. He has to accept that Keith doesn’t like him because of no reason other than that he’s human. And, well, that’s just _unfair.)_

Lance swallows harshly. 

All his life he’s been different. At first he was the bastard prince, and then the bastard _step-_ prince. He’s never really had any friends save for Hunk, nor has he excelled in anything ‘princely.’ Sword fighting, diplomatics, Lance didn’t really have a _thing._ Sure, he’s a decent shot, but he left his bow at home and King Garrett (well, the _late_ king Garrett) always said that archery was a coward's weapon.

And then there’s magic. 

He’s never really cared about standing out in the past. Who cares if others looked down on him? Lance was the prince! No one’s opinions really matter (aside from Hunk’s, or maybe Shiro’s.)

But now, well--

Is he… abnormal, for knowing magic?

Lance begins to trail behind Pidge and Keith, shoulders hunched up to his ears as he tunes out their conversation.

Truthfully, Lance realises that just this once, maybe he doesn’t want to be different after all.

** ༄༅ **

They've only been travelling for a couple hours (or vargas, as Pidge strangely calls them), before Lance starts to get restless. He's walking a couple paces behind the two elves, listening absentmindedly to one of their reminiscing sessions of their childhood. Usually he's more attentive of Pidge's stories - any one may reveal more about her backstory - but today he's just not feeling it. Mama McClain would have smacked him over the cheek multiple times for his rude attitude if she were here. Mama McClain would have thrashed him for consorting with elves, too. 

...

There's a lot his mother would have smacked him for. 

_Anyways_ , Lance is pretty much completely tuning out the others, winding about in his own head. It's a pretty fun place to hang out, all things considered. 

Contrary to what a lot of the castle staff would gossip about, there's actually not a lot of empty space in his head. He's got some thoughts, surprisingly. Some good thoughts, actually. And yes, maybe he's a bit of an idiot sometimes, but the prince wasn't a complete airhead!

Hopefully.

All his life he's been told that Hunk is the smarter prince. That's fair enough, all things considered. Hunk is a diplomatic genius who has fantastic engineering expertise. Even though the position on Katolis' throne was first given to Lance (before his mother died, before the late King Garret married her) everyone could agree that Hunk is an objectively better prince. 

That's probably why he's so stuck on what Keith said before. His comment, the way he called Lance an idiot and looked at him like the human was just some dried mud on the bottom of his shoe, it rubbed him the wrong way. And ever since Keith joined them, Pidge had been giving him less attention.

_Wow, I sound pretty pathetic,_ Lance thinks, somewhat bitterly. 

Refocusing his eyes, the prince zones back in to see Keith and Pidge talking again - to no one's surprise. Their conversation has shifted, from their childhoods to whatever the hell Adoraburrs were. (Judging from their name, they sounded rather _adorable._

_Hunk would have liked that pun.)_

Lance snorts to himself, which unluckily is heard by the two elves in front of him. Pidge's head whips back to look at him, head cocked in confusion.

"Everything okay?" She calls over her shoulder. 

Lance shoots her his signature finger guns. "Yup! Everything's a-okay back here, Pidgey!"

Something tells him that the nickname isn't a hit, judging by the withering look she gives him.

Strangely, where there would be banter before, Pidge didn't say anything more. Lance would have at least expected some quip about the nickname or an equally terrible one thrown right back at him, but she simply swivels her head back to Keith, resuming their conversation once more. The sight of the back of her head makes Lance frown.

"Uh, so I think we're on the right track," Lance says, trying to start up a conversation. There's no response, so he continues, "I'm not sure how far exactly we are from the North Breach but I think we're headed in the right direction."

Now _that_ captures the elves' attention. Halting their monotonous hike, Keith and Pidge turn towards him - in the former's case with an eyebrow raised incredulously.

"What a minute, you're headed to the _North_ end of The Breach?" Keith asks.

Lance nods, but it's Pidge who responds. "Yup. We're going to the last known destination of Haggar's whereabouts. Which, incidentally, is near where Matt first disappeared."

"Huh." With his mouth pressed into a thin line, Keith turns his attention onto the prince, his odd purple eyes boring into him in a way that reminds Lance of Shiro's intense stares. "Well then, you should have said that before. You're going the wrong way." 

_How dare he!_

Immediately Lance starts bristling at the accusation. _"Excuse me,"_ He spits out, thingy veiled annoyance tinged in his words, "As someone who actually lives in Katolis, I think I know the way to The Breach."

"Uh-huh. But we're right near the rivers."

Lance scoffs. "Of course we are! The rivers lead directly to The Breach, obviously."

Yet by the way Keith stands aloof with an air of superiority, the prince has a sinking feeling that he's utterly wrong.

"We need to go directly north," Keith says, his voice reflecting an authoritative tone that Lance doesn't like. "Judging by the river we've been travelling too far east. If we continue like this we'll end up in the middle section of the Breach."

Lance scoffs. "How do you know that? We've been travelling perfectly well until you showed up, _elf."_ Out of the corner of his eye Lance sees Pidge frown, though he didn't know why. 

Raising an eyebrow, Keith gives him an all-too-familiar look.

"Well, you see, it's basic geographic knowledge that the rivers of Katollis all flow east. Or did you not learn that in your royal classes, _prince?"_

Instantly Lance's fingers flexed, a magnetic hum humming underneath his skin as if some sort of energy were begging to be let free; yet his anger didn't prevent an embarrassed flush from spreading across his freckled cheeks. Oh how he would kill to wipe that smug smirk off of the elf's face. 

"Of course I knew that!" Lance shrieks with as much dignity one would expect from the disappointment of a prince. "You- you're- uh,"

And as he stammers, trying to think of a comeback, his stomach bottoms out once Keith looks down at him in a self-satisfied way. Just the slightest tilt of his lips set off every nerve in Lance's body. 

"C'mon, Lance," Pidge murmurs, "let Keith navigate for once. He knows where he's going."

"And I don't?! I've lived here all my life, Katolis is my home! I've-"

"Been sheltered inside the castle and barely ventured out east. All you humans hunt in the west." Keith cuts in.

"And how do _you_ know that?!"

Keith smirks, but doesn't say anything. 

Suddenly, he feels a tugging sensation though his arm. Looking down, Pidge's hands grips at his limbs. Days ago, before Keith showed up, the motion would have made his stomach feel weird, but now her contact feels sombre, like a missed opportunity. _Her hands are warm,_ Lance vaguely notices. A faint realisation strikes him - from how little Keith and Pidge wore compared to him, elves must have some sort of higher body temperature. He files that information for later.

"Why don't you give Keith a go of navigating. Just for a day." Pidge stares up at him, auburn eyes wide. "Without navigating, you have extra time to drink that weird human tea of yours! The Duren one, right?"

"Neolandian," Lance mutters, correcting her without second thought. What Pidge says sounds an awful lot like a bribe - he's been on the receiving end of those most of his life, being a stubborn, apparently 'sheltered' prince and all.

"Yes! Neolandian! Why don't we chill and Keith can navigate. Just for a bit?"

And who is he to say no to such a cute face-- _uh,_ nice face. Yes, Pidge has an objectively nice face, in his completely unbiased. Nothing more to that. 

"Sure. But you gotta actually drink the tea, this time!" Lance says, cocking an eyebrow as he refers to a small incident a couple days ago where she completely snubbed him and his tea in favour of doing some midnight training with Keith.

Pidge pokes out her tongue. "Of course I will," and softly mumbles under her breath _, "even if it tastes like sugar water."_

What should have been a muttering too quiet for anyone to decipher is heard by him. "E-excuse me! Neolandia just so happens to have a fond history entrenched in the cultural trade of sweet fruits a-and-" 

Lance's spluttering is cut off by Keith's quick strides ahead, bumping him on the shoulder in the process. "No one cares, human. Let's just go."

Instantly scoffing, he's taken aback once again by the elf's brash nature, rather offended if Lance does say so himself. Okay _sure,_ maybe rambling about the local Neolandian trades and how their oddly desolate deserts yields sweet star-shaped cactus pears isn't something a common Moonshadow elf was interested in, but Keith didn't have to be so rude, for star's sake!

"Lance..?"

Pidge's voice calls up ahead, her words dipped in confusion. Lance didn't realise they two had gone ahead - he must have gotten lost in his thoughts again. That has been happening more and more recently, come to think of it. Without the constant stimulation from Pidge, he's been reverting back to his old ways in the castle - distracted and bored. 

_"Oi,_ idiot!"

A brash shout from Keith quickly snaps him out of his musings. He holds up his hands, palms facing outwards.

"Geez, I'm coming, I'm coming. No need to get your horns in a twist."

Keith scowls, and he realises too late that the elf's single horn might be a touchy subject. 

"Can we leave him behind?" Keith mutters to his fellow Moonshadow elf, an annoyed scowl painted clearly across his face. Pidge chuckles, but (luckily) shakes her head.

"No _p_ e," she says, popping the 'p' (a habit Pidge seems to have picked up from the human), "He's with us. Can't shake him off yet."

With that Pidge and Keith turn back towards the forest, resuming their hike. Lance's legs move without his permission, trailing behind them at a quickened pace. Just like Keith had a few seconds ago, he wears an unfamiliar grimace. 

_When did they become an 'us?'_ Lance asks himself. 

His only answer is the sound of distant birdsong. 

** ༄༅ **

The group has travelled a fair way before the sun starts to set.

Now that Keith is leading them they've diverged from the river, heading in a more northerly direction. Lance made sure to fill up their canteens before leaving, but at the end of the day his is unfortunately empty. Unlike when he was directing the group - where him and Pidge riled up a village and almost drowned - almost nothing noteworthy happens. They walk, occasionally talk, and that's about it. 

Now that Keith's leading, things have become... quieter, in a way. Not that that's a bad thing, per se. Quieter means less danger, quieter means no more threats of angry humans or deadly rapids.

But, to put it simply, quieter means a more boring journey, and that's the opposite of what Lance wants. He left the castle of Katolis for an adventure! Not for some lousy hiking in a random forest. He's the prince - he deserves some action, or at least something other than the boring, monotonous walking that leaves his legs heavy and mind haywire for stimulation.

On the bright side, that soon comes to an end; as the radiant sun slowly dips below the forested horizon, they all know it's time to stop for the night. Keith urges them to keep going but not before too long Lance stumbles over roots, unable to see a thing in the no-moon sky. 

"Hey guys," Lance mutters, looking up from the ground. His body is sprawled across the mossy ground, fallen from tripping over the fourth gnarled tree root in fifteen minutes. Coarse grains dig into his clothes, and his knees feel completely ripped from the continual falling. With some divine luck he hasn't fallen onto any rocks or sharp edges yet, but he knows he can't keep pushing it. "Can we set up camp now? I can't see a thing."

From a distance away (Lance's poor human eyes couldn't see where), Keith grumbles under his breath. "We need to keep going." He says, blunt and uncaring of the prince's abused kneecaps. 

Somehow, despite every single position in arguments that Pidge has taken against him today, she pipes up somewhere to the left of him, "Actually, Keith, I agree with him. It's getting pretty late and we should probably get some sleep."

If his arms weren't crumpled under his body, Lance could fist pump the air. 

"Exactly!" He squawks, body wriggling to get up from the dirt, "I think I'll pass out if I take another step."

"Besides," Pidge adds on, "Lance isn't a elf. He can't see in the night like we do."

And, _ouch,_ that admission kinda hurts. She didn't have to say that out loud! Putting his inferior aspects out in the open isn't that nice for a lowly prince's ego. Though, he thinks, Pidge was totally underestimating him. He has a better eyesight than most humans, especially in the dark (and who knew how many of his and Hunk's bakery heists would have gone wrong without it). Not his fault he's a human.

Keith stays silent, but as Pidge's chuckles fill the night air, his composure seems to deflate.

"Fine," he relents, walking close enough to Lance that he can finally see the other boy. "But we get up before sunrise tomorrow. There's no time to waste."

Lance groans. Keith's annoying desire to be as efficient as possible reminds him a bit of Shiro. Now that he thinks on it, both were frustratingly active and much too insistent on getting up before midday.

_Ugh._ Lance hates it when Shiro wakes him up too early.

"Can't we just have a little bit of a break?" the prince whines, "I get that we need to get to Honerva as soon as possible but _before_ sunrise? Really?!"

Keith starts to pace towards him, his feet so light that Lance can barely hear his approach.

"Are you _serious?"_ He spits out, his words not at all sounding like a question. "Please tell me that you're joking."

Lance scoffs. With some great effort that's entirely fuelled from spite and anger, he pushes himself up from the ground and meets Keith's smouldering stare. "Joking?" his hands lifts up as if to say 'who, me?' 

With some foresight Pidge rushes in front of the other elf, though he pushes her away with little worry. Pidge stumbles back, not expecting the resistance from her friend. 

"I have never met a human as selfish as you." Keith growls out. At that, Lance sees red. "You've been weighing us down the whole day. Please take this _seriously."_

_How. dare. he._

Clenching his fists, the prince strides over to Keith, meeting him once again face to face. 

_"Us?"_ He asks incredulously, "Last time I checked, you let Pidge go on this quest. Alone, might I add." Lifting his chin, Lance stares down at the other boy. "This is Pidge and I's quest, not yours. So why don't you butt out."

The smile Keith gives him is scarily reminiscent of a snarling wolf. 

"Without me, your dumbass wits would have gotten Pidge killed! You were going the wrong way, for star's sake!"

Ever-so minutely, Lance flinches. The motion is so small that no one but a trained eye would pick up on it. Unfortunately, both Keith and Pidge were highly trained assassins.

Sensing weakness, Keith lunges in for the kill. "You're just a human. You can't be trusted with these sorts of things."

_That's it._

"Oh, you mother f-"

Lance's hands flex and before he knows it, his fingers are halfway through tracing out a familiar starburst pattern. An unfinished rune hangs in the air, the words _sidus luceat_ a nanosecond away from rolling off his tongue. He raises his hand, fury clouding his mind. How dare this _elf_ insult him, his race, his--

Within the blink of an eye he's no longer standing, but pushed back onto the trodden earth with a resounding 'thump.' Two hands grab at his wrists, restraining them from any movement. Something straddles his torso as he's flipped onto his back, jolts of fiery pain radiating from his chin once it hits the ground painfully. 

He doesn't even realise that he's breathing harshly until the ground's pressure restricts it. The breath is locked completely from his stomach. And most importantly his half-cast rune fizzles from the air, a centimetre away from Keith's face.

Without even seeing who's on top of him, Lance knows he has royally screwed up.

_"What were you doing?!"_ Pidge's shrill voice almost prices his eardrums. He nails dig into wrists tighter, as if she's expecting him to retaliate. (But the anger has left Lance already, and he would never attack _her.)_ "You- you-" she stutters, "You promised not to do magic!"

Lance's jaw drops in outrage. "Keith was in my face! He insulted me!"

Pidge looks at him sourly. "Oh, _grow up."_

Suddenly, the weight on his back abates. He hears retreating footsteps, but doesn't dare get up quite yet as to not stoke Pidge's ire further.

"Looks like you're taking your _boyfriend's_ side again." Lance mutters under his breath, knowing full well that she will hear him. But, hell, he wants Pidge to hear. He wants her to know that she's acting unfair. They've spent weeks together, bonding over their shared love of becoming something neither were - a princess and a bird - and now she's ditching him for some upstart, emo elf. 

Figures. 

Pidge was just like everyone else. _They all find someone better eventually._

She pauses - that Lance can hear - but as her footsteps grow fainter and fainter does he notice a new crack in their fragile friendship. It was easy to overestimate how important he is to Pidge.

How could Lance forget? He's just a dumb, idiotic human. 

And no one will ever let him forget it.

It takes both Pidge and Keith walking away, _leaving_ , for Lance's body to move. He slowly pushes himself up, ignoring the throbbing on his chin, and busies himself with randomly searching through his travel bag. Amongst his dawdling, the two elves have set up a small campfire and huddle next to it, soaking up the incandescent warmth. 

Lance's eyes flicker over their forms. A pang of jealousy rips through him, before it's quelled by a cool numbness. He stares back at his bag, eyes focusing on the small satchel of Neolandian star-fruit tea. 

Despite it being a delicacy, he wants to throw it away. To launch it in the river and draw the tea's sweetness with bitter hurt. 

Pidge was right. He's an idiot for bringing the tea. 

His feet drag for the rest of the day. Not in shame, no, because Lance has been taught to never feel shameful of human culture. 

It’s not shame. (But it sure feels like it.)

Keith, for the well-prepared person he is, packed a small sleeping bag for himself, as well as a miniature tarp that only fitted a person. Two, if you really squished in. Pidge too had some sort of protective foil blanket, but Lance forgot to pack anything like that. Up until now there's been no need for things like that; the autumn nights are warm enough to keep their bodies sheltered at night. But as the winter's zephyr blows around the corner, nights grow colder and wetter.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lance spots Pidge and Keith huddling underneath the tarp, their bodies perfectly nestled to fit. They look perfectly content. Perfectly fitting for each other. 

He takes a deep breath, sucking frigid air between his teeth. Lance goes past the campfire, careful not to look at the others, and sits himself beneath a tree. 

And when he lays on the cold, wet ground, none of the distant fire's warmth seems to thaw the hurt in his heart. Trying to fall asleep, he turns his back towards the elves. A deep, festering cold settles in his bones, yet his body lays motionless on the damp grass. Falling asleep has never been easy for Lance, so he tries to focus on the dying flickers on the campfire and the distant whistle of zephyrs weaving in and out of the forest, hoping that they’ll ease his mind enough.

Yet for some reason, all his ears can pick up is the faint whispering coming from the general direction of Pidge and Keith. They’re almost too far away to hear anything; all Lance can catch are _“dangerous,”_ and _“could get himself killed.”_ It sounds like Keith.

Another snippet, _“it’s not right,”_ sends Lance reeling. He scrunches up his face and puts his shoulder over his ear. What… who were they talking about? Was anything wrong? Did _he_ do something wrong?

Lance turns onto his back, and looks up at the stars. 

_Have I messed up?_ He asks. _Am I a bad friend?_

Lance blinks. 

The stars blink back. Beautiful and ruthless. His mind wanders to an elf, beautiful and ruthless in her own way. 

And under the night sky, his questions remain unanswered.

** ༄༅ **

Okay. So staying away from the campfire was a bad idea.

He should have just sucked up his pride and joined the elves in their little snuggle pile because _stars_ was it freaking cold. Oh how Lance wishes he had the foresight to bring warmer clothes or at least a blanket.

If he wakes up half frozen, he wouldn't be surprised.

And that's why he's awake at who-knows-when in the middle of the night, trying to ignore the frostbite tearing into his toes or the white cuffs of air that billows out from his mouth. He's curled up as rightly as he can to try and conserve body heat but it's not much use. Eyes drooping and body tired, every time he almost falls asleep the ever-present cold wakes him up.

Needless to say, Lance is tired. Very, very tired. And cold, but that's not a surprise.

It’s not only the frigid temperature that’s keeping him up, though. Keith and Pidge’s whispers replay over and over again in his mind like a broken record, haunting him with their foreboding words. 

Faintly, he wonders if they were talking about _him._ But even the thought of that sends his heart plummeting. 

_(No,_ Pidge wouldn’t talk about him behind his back. She wasn’t like the others in Katolis, always gossiping about his status as a step-prince and his utter incompetence with almost everything. Pidge wasn’t like that.

Was she?) 

Looking back on it, he should have sucked up his pride and apologised to Keith and Pidge. Even if he thinks that he isn't in the wrong, even if they _were_ talking about him, the warmth from a closer proximity to the now-smouldering fire and their huddle would have more than made up for the temporary knock to his pride. And now he's rambling again.

_Ugh._ No matter how hard Lance screams in his mind, it won't let him fall asleep. If he was back at the castle Hunk would've made him some soothing lavender tea and stayed with him until he could fall asleep. Their insomnia-fuelled slumber parties were always an absolute blast. 

He turns over, body facing the campfire. After many hours of burning flames no longer dance above the wood. Instead, scant embers dispersed between charred coals is all that remains, taunting Lance with its bare warmth.

The cycle repeats a couple more times. Lance thinks back to all of the things he could have done differently, gazes longingly at the slowly diminishing fire, and wistfully remembers the castle. Every so often he would toss and turn over again, his body hardwired to move or fidget even if he's almost dead with exhaustion. It's a trait the late King Garret never liked in him.

Eventually, this becomes too much. He can't stand lying down on the damp, hard floor anymore. A sudden burst of energy prompts him to stand up and do _something._

_I shouldn't be up,_ he thinks, _we need as much rest as possible for tomorrow_. But that doesn't stop his legs from moving. Before he knows it he's on the edge of the clearing, glancing back at where his bad and the others were.

Lance looks over at Keith and Pidge. They're still embracing each other. Pidge's back is to Lance, but he can clearly see Keith's face. Unlike every single time the elf has ever interacted with him, the lines of frustration and annoyance on his face are gone, replaced by a blank slate of pleasant dreaming. Lance frowns.

He knows that on some level, he's not the most likeable person. Hell, most people in the castle thought him to be an annoyance at best, and usually a disregardable step-prince. Queen McClain always told him when he was younger that not everyone had to like you, not everyone had to be your friend. And it seemed that no matter how hard Lance tried, he'd always be fighting with Keith no matter what. 

With no clue why Keith doesn't like him other than the boy's general hatred of humans (and perhaps his hatred of _humans_ doing magic), Lance has no idea how he'll ever be friends with the elf.

Unexpectedly, an idea forms in Lance's mind. 

Maybe if he can prove to Pidge that he's just as strong as Keith, then she'll pay him more attention?

_No,_ that's a dumb idea. He'll never be able to outfight a trained Moonshadow assassin. 

_But..._

An unexpected vigour shoots through Lance's veins. His fingers itch. 

_Pidge made me promise not to!_ one side of his mind argues. _But then again, Pidge isn't awake, is she?_

No, she isn't awake. She's not here to control his actions or stifle his potential. For all Lance knew, she didn't want him to practise magic because she was jealous.

The other, more rational, part of his mind argues against that. _But Pidge is your friend!_ it whispers, _she wants what's best for me._

Lance looks over to Pidge's prone sleeping form, vulnerable and enveloped in Keith's arms. 

_That’s it,_ he thinks bitterly. Without another moment of hesitation the prince turns on his heel and stomps (well, as quietly as he can without waking up the others) away. The forest rushes by in a blur of deep greens and rich mahogany.

Lance barely notices how far he’s gone until he stumbles upon a clearing that vaguely looks like the place they stopped at for lunch. It’s a patch of scant sun-bleached grass surrounded by a poorly-drawn circle of mighty oaks, 

By now he must be far enough away from the camp that Keith and Pidge couldn't see any runes he may have casted. Just for safe measures though, Lance hides within a small depression in the forest, a meter or so of loose dirt and rock protecting him from the elves.

He looks over his shoulder. There's no one there. Pidge hasn't followed him; he's safe.

Flexing his fingers, an excited grin grows across Lance's face. He can _finally_ do magic without Pidge's annoying restrictions! The thought of growing more powerful and perfecting his skills is exhilarating.

With that Lance raises his arm, heart hammering against his ribcage. _This is it._

His fingers draw a familiar starburst pattern in the air. The blue-gold rune hangs domineeringly in the night's darkness, scantly illuminating his body yet none of the surroundings. 

Lowly, so that no one could overhear, Lances mutters, Sidus Luceat.

A ball of light immediately bursts from his palms. It's small, weak, barely big enough to fit inside of his whole hand. There's a faint warmth radiating from it, though the blinding light that shines from it is absolutely wonderful to see.

It... it _worked._

_Holy_ _stars_ , it worked!

Lance whoops, throwing his hands up in the air before realising that the spell is still active. The ball of light in his hand plummets to the ground, where it quickly fizzles into radiated energy. He frantically looks around, trying to see if anyone saw his mistake. Luckily it seemed that neither Keith nor Pidge were awoken by the blunder.

Relief washes over Lance. To be completely honest with himself, he thought that the spells were a one-time thing; something that he could do in the spur of the moment and never again. Elation burns through him as he realises his attempt was a success.

And sure, his ball of light wasn't as big as his last attempt nor powerful enough to temporarily blind a horde of attacking villages, but it's a start! He was under duress during that time - of course his spells would be more powerful when in danger.

Grinning maniacally, Lance lifts his hand again and focuses intensely on the rune. It's drawn again in the air, this time bigger and with sharper edges, before he chants again, slightly louder than the last time.

** Sidus Luceat! **

The difference is immediate. Whether it be due to Lance's newfound confidence, the louder incantation of the spell, or his slightly different drawing of the rune, light grows in his hand even brighter and bigger than before. He stiffens his fingers, and the light reacts by growing larger. 

_Huh. Interesting._

On a whim, Lance relaxes his fingers. This time, the ball grows smaller, seemingly reacting to the small changes in his hand.

Clenching his hand into a fist, the light disappears completely.

For a pregnant moment he stands in the darkness, blindsided by the blinding (ha!) light that he had conjured. The way that it reacted to his movements was...

_Awesome._

Never in his life did Lance think that being a mage would be so cool!

By now any remaining sleep has completely left his body. Adrenaline flows through his veins, spurring Lance to do _more,_ to conjure something even _more_ powerful. It's intoxicating, compelling. 

And Lance finds that he's addicted to it.

After that, he doesn't know how long he stays in the divot, casting _Sidus Luceat_ over and over again until he knows the ins and outs of the basics on how to control it. With each repetition his control grows stronger and stronger, until Lance can easily change the size of the light to a small degree by just flexing his hand. Even if he had no teacher and was practically stumbling blindly (Hunk would be proud at all his light puns) into magic, somehow he was slowly getting the hang of it. The motions going through spells feel almost... natural.

Though, after only a couple more spells the former energy he possessed dissipates into exhaustion, weighing heavily upon his muscles and limbs. Lance didn't know whether it was due to the repeated spells or lack of sleep that made him so tired. 

_Stars._ He's practically swaying on the spot. _Maaaaybe_ he's done too many spells in such a short period of time. But, hey, the thrill of sneaking out and doing something he wasn't supposed to was worth it! It reminds Lance of how he got into this mess in the first place; sneaking out with Hunk and subsequently being threatened by a Moonshadow assassin. 

_Aaaand_ the mood suddenly plummets as the thought of Pidge crosses his mind. 

Pidge would be so mad if she woke up and saw him cast spells. She'd probably kick him out of their travelling group or send him back to the castle. Or even worse, let Keith kill him!

Okay, maybe Lance is overreacting. But still, there's no way Pidge can find out about his little night magic session. No way at all. He doesn't want their frail, slowly crumbling friendship to break any further.

So as he lumbers back to camp, quietly snuggling against his knapsack as exhaustion finally grips at all of his muscles, Lance promises himself not to sneak out and practise magic again, thrill be damned. 

And as he slowly falls asleep to two elves separated from him by a now-dead fire, he knows that he can't break Pidge's trust. Not again. 

His last thoughts before succumbing to a peaceful slumber is the never ending chants of _this won't happen again._

** ༄༅ **

Except.

** ༄༅ **

He sneaks out again the next night.

** ༄༅ **

And the night after that, too.

** ༄༅ **

Oh _quiznak._

** ༄༅ **

Well, Lance did promise not to practise magic again. He wakes up feeling more exhausted than he did at the one time when he and Hunk pulled an all-nighter, and apologises to Pidge (and a small 'sorry' to Keith). They go about their day again, Keith fighting with him and Pidge hanging off the other elf's every word, but at least this time Lance feels a lot subdued (which may or may not have been due to sleep deprivation.)

Everything is well and dandy, right up until that night where yet again the prince finds himself unable to go to sleep. 

It's as if his magic is singing, urging him out of his sleep and to channel its power through his veins. 

It’s _addicting._ And Lance is hooked on it..

And so Lance sneaks out that night. And the next one. And the one after that. 

Sure, he's getting less sleep but _holy stars_ is he getting better at magic. After only a few nights he learns through trial and error that not only does _Sidus Luceat_ produce light, but also _heat._ The brighter he forces the ball to be the hotter it gets. Not only that, but he can control all of these slight variations - size, temperature, and brightness.

The more Lance flexes his fingers the larger the ball of light will grow. If he draws the starburst rune sharper the light will grow hotter, and the louder he says the rune the hotter the spell will be.

Figuring this out, all the trial and error, it's exhilarating. Lance has never had so much fun before. 

Slowly, Lance gets better and better at casting that particular spell until he starts to crave _more._ A simple light spell isn't covering it anymore, but the only other thing he knows almost blasted both him and Pidge the last time he tried.

So he tries to take a few nights off, get a whole night of sleep instead of waiting until Keith and Pidge are asleep before sneaking off and only coming back a couple hours before dawn. Pidge starts to catch on to his growing lack of energy so he thought a small break would have been worthwhile. Yet each time he tries to sleep a familiar buzz burns static in his mind. He tosses and turns but no matter how hard he tries, or how much rare Neolandian tea he consumes, the sweet release of sleep just doesn't come.

The only thing that helps is magic. 

And so he finds himself back out in the forest in the middle of the night, practising magic like his sleep depended on it - and usually, it did. 

After the light spell got too boring, the allure of the other spell Lance knew became too great. Sure, he may have almost killed himself last time he casted it but hey, all those sleepless nights practising his magic had to count for something!

So he starts small, analysing where he went wrong last time. HIs memories are all a bit fuzzy, like someone had covered them with an opaque film, though subtly asking Pidge about that day fills in the gaps. Lance's original hypothesis of what went wrong is that he simply didn't say the right words all at once. An epiphany comes to him about a week after his first foray into midnight magic - he needs to stay focused throughout the entirety of the spell.

That night he sneaks out again and tries the spell out.

Starting small, he barely whispers  et amor noster resistunt veritati  to make sure that the spell doesn't get out of hand. The rune hangs in the air threateningly, bright blue light shining from the figure-eight pattern. 

...and then he wakes up on the damp forest floor just an hour before sunrise, lightning-shaped scorch marks radiating from his sprawled body. 

Quickly hurrying back to camp before Pidge and Keith find out that he's gone, Lance realises that he must be doing something wrong. So it's back to the drawing board, trying to figure out what makes this spell _work._ If Pidge notices the burns riddling the lapels on his tunic, she doesn't say anything.

(Though, in the morning she does ask if he wanted to go stargazing that night with her. Lance gives her an excuse about wanting to have an early night and feels the lie burn at the back of his throat.)

The next night, instead of starting the rune from the right he draws it from the left. A familiar blue light erupts from his fingers and then...

A loud _crack_ fills the forest as his body is launched back into a tree. Something snaps in Lance’s back as he falls to the ground, winded and sore all over. 

_Well then,_ he thinks blithely, _that worked perfectly._

Lance stands up slowly, ignoring the aches and pains in his muscles and tendons, and brushes the dirt off of his tunic and pants. Despite the obvious fail (and how his entire body felt as if someone dropped a dragon on it) the prince isn't discouraged. Quite the contrary, his failure sends a rush of adrenaline into his head. Ignoring his aching joints, Lance feels almost refreshed - ready to try again and again _and again_ until he's perfected the art of magic.

Without even a second thought Lance narrows his eyes in determination and lifts his finger, drawing the familiar figure eight rune. Instead of altering the shape this time, he opts for only saying the first part of the incantation,  et amor noster. 

But just as his previous attempts gets him, the prince is met with a rather spectacular failure. Wind and electricity immediately build around him, thunderclaps echoing in his ear. The rune holds fragile, brittle, until a spark of lightning shoots through it, hitting Lance's foot. He barely has enough time to watch the rune dissolve before his nerves are lit on fire, body convulsing as he falls to the ground in a mess of shaking limbs and jerky movements.

And as he lays down on, body still occasionally twitching from aftershocks, all Lance thinks about is whether Pidge heard him.

Luckily, when he sneaks back into camp, she's still soundly asleep. 

** ༄༅ **

He sneaks out again the next night.

This time, he only gets pushed back into a thorn bush. Lance counts it as a win.

** ༄༅ **

The night after that, the spell holds for a couple seconds before he’s shocked with the force of too-much lightning. 

The next day, he has to hide the thin, pale scars on his fingers that appeared overnight.

No one questions why he doesn’t take off his gloves after then.

** ༄༅ **

He wants to take a break but the magic, the _power,_ it’s addictive. So he sneaks out at night, every night, for who-knows-how-long. It gets to the point where he can’t sleep through the night without his hands shaking, arms trembling, and the _urge_ to cast something grows stronger and stronger. 

Truthfully, Lance doesn’t think that it’s the magic that motivates him. It’s P-

No. 

_No._

It’s a little after midnight judging by the way the moon’s started it’s slow descent. Keith and Pidge went to sleep a little later that night so Lance’s only just gotten out to practise moon arcanum magic. By the way he can practically direct lighting now, he’s so _close_ to getting it right.

**Et amor noster resistunt veritati. **

The rune hangs in the air, excess energy arching off of the lavender charm. For a moment Lance stands there, entranced by the glow from the rune, then--

"L-Lance?" A timid voice sounds from behind him.

Slowly, Lance turns around, brilliant light still burning in his hand. Said magic casts light on the figure behind him, illuminating her strawberry-shaped face and elegant Moonshadow marks.

_Pidge._

He's hyper aware of her now - she's hardly breathing, but as she looks up at his spell shock is written plainly across her face. For a second neither move, locked in a statement of their own mutual shock. Pidge is the one to break their silence first.

"What are you doing?" She whispers. Lance takes a hesitant step forward, but reels back in distress as Pidge flinches at his approach.

"It- it's not what it looks like." Lance quickly snaps his fingers into a tight ball. With that, the light disappears completely. Once draped in a beautiful warm glow, the dense forest sinks back into gloomy shadows, only sparsely illuminated by the half moon. 

Lance's stomach churns. He realises that he's just given Pidge the biggest advantage he could. 

"Well," the Moonshadow assassin says, lowly and uncompromising of her emotions, "it looks to me like you're practising magic."

Hopefully Pidge's night vision wasn't good enough to pick up on the embarrassed flush speeding across Lance's neck and cheeks. "Uh, yes..?"

That's the wrong answer, and he knows it. Immediately the anger Pidge seemed to have repressed comes bubbling up; she starts to advance on him in a very Keith-like manner. 

_"You promised!"_ Throwing out any subtlety, Pidge shouts into the night. "You promised me that you wouldn't do magic!"

"But--"

"You lied to me! How long have you been doing this?!"

Lance shrinks back. She may not have any magic but _stars_ did Pidge possess a temper he could practically feel. Her ire burned hotter than his runes.

"Why do you care?" He asks, evading the question. For some dumb, unexplained reason, the prince doesn't want to disappoint her even further by answering. He doesn't think that _'since the no-moon'_ would be a good response. 

By now, Pidge has come so close that he can now make out the faint outline of her body a handful meters away. She blinks up at him, clearly affronted.

"I care because what you're doing is dangerous, you idiot! Do you not remember the last time that you haphazardly cast a spell?"

"Yes, but--"

_"I DO!"_ she roars, "You might not, but I do! And I remember you almost dying!"

Lance snorts. He barely remembers the _incident_ but he's sure that Pidge is just playing it up. "Yeah, well, who cares!" He shouts back, not even nearly reaching the same intensity that the elf is, "You can't blame me, I'm bored!"

" _Bored?"_ Pidge's voice takes on a dangerous tone. "You're telling me that you're _bored?"_

Taking a step back, Lance knows he's seriously screwed up now. She stares daggers at him, her normally soft mousy eyes now hardened by wrath. "How can you be so flippant with your life?" Pidge asks. Her words are low, but carry even more anger than her previous shouts. "Is this not enough of an adventure for you? Are you so selfish that you'll risk your life out of boredom?!" 

At this point Lance's mouth is running faster than his brain. Throwing his hands up in exasperation, the prince meets her stare with an equal ire. "It's not _my_ fault! You and your _boyfriend_ have completely ignored me for the past couple of weeks!"

Scoffing, Pidge looks taken aback. Surprise reflects across her face, before it's replaced with a rapid stream on emotions Lance can't ever hope to decipher. _“Boyfriend?"_ she says shrilly (and Lance's eardrums feel like they've been shattered). _"Stars,_ Lance, how dumb are you?"

His jaw drops, right as he feels his fists clench. Normally, he can take the jokes on his intelligence, suck it up that everyone thought he was some sort of idiot who brought tea to a camping trip instead of a sleeping bag or someone who could barely hold himself in human politics but now? 

He's tired of being called dumb. Tired of Keith jabbing him with insults upon insults and labelling him unintelligent, all the while Pidge smiles and agrees. He could bare it back home, where Hunk was there to comfort him and where Shiro always tried to lift his spirits. Here, however, her insult drives a rod of lightning down his spine.

Lance's face morphs into a saccharine smile, hackles raised and eyes narrowed. 

"Don't lie to me. I've seen the way you two act together, and how the moment Keith came you threw me away like some... some..."

Pidge scoffs. “Some _what,_ Lance?” She says mockingly, her normally soft eyes harder than flint. 

Lance fumbles for the right thing to say. It’s like his feelings are refusing to be spoken; drawing them out is near possible. 

"I dunno!” He cries out, before snaring, “I thought you were my friend, _Katie."_

Pidge recoils as if she’s been slapped. "This isn't how you treat friends, for star's sake Lance! Friends are supposed to be there for each other. Friends are supposed to keep their promises, not lie to each other!" 

Suddenly, the world around Lance goes blurry. He has to blink a few times to clear it up, though his eyes never lose the wet sensation or slight fogginess. 

"You can't distance yourself and say nothing." 

Lance opens his mouth, then closes it.

He...

He doesn't know what to say.

"I- I didn't think-" stammering, words catch inside his throat like minnows on a fishhook. Before he knows it, something moist spills down his cheeks and drips off of his chin, leaving behind telling salty tracks. The prince didn't even realise he had been crying. 

A quick glance at Pidge's face paints a similar story; though she isn't as pathetically emotional as him, her eyes are red and slightly puffy, as if she'd been fighting the urge to sob all night. 

"You're my friend," Pidge tentatively shuffles closer, almost like she didn't want to startle him. "I really value our relationship but this can't keep happening. You're so angry and I..." she takes a deep breath, and bites her bottom lip before continuing, "why are you acting like this?"

Something warm grips Lance's hand. He looks down to see Pidge's fingers slowly intertwining themselves with his own. 

"I don't... I don't know."

The admittance weighs heavy in the air. 

Lance opens his mouth and closes it a couple times, unable to pull words from his hyperactive mind. He wants to yank out his hair on how frustrating this all is. 

How... how does he admit it to her? That he values Pidge more than he's valued anyone else in his life, save for Hunk and his mother. But his mother is dead and Hunk is who knows how far away too busy running a freaking kingdom to worry about him, and Pidge is the only one left.

How does he tell her that she's his second friend in his entire life? How does he tell her that every time Keith looks at her, touches her, he can't help but feel white-hot jealousy course through his veins. Because someone like Keith - mysterious, attractive Keith - probably has loads of friends, loads of people that like him. 

And Lance?

How does he admit that aside from Hunk, Pidge is his only friend.

"I was bored, I guess. Ever since Keith came you've been hanging out with him a lot more, y'know? And that's fine and good and dandy because he's your friend but it's like..."

Pidge raises an eyebrow. "Like what?" She asks, no unkindly. From what he can see, all the vestiges of anger have bled mostly out of her system, though remnants of her ire still clung like a second skin. To be fair, he too still felt somewhat angry, though the way Pidge holds his hand tenderly slowly diminishes it to a background cacophony of white noise.

"It's dumb." Lance chuckles, but Pidge doesn't back down. 

"I guess I thought that if I could get better at magic, then you'd talk to me more. That you wouldn't ignore me." The admission stings his eyes. 

"Why would you think that?!" Auburn eyes widening, Pidge's hands cling tighter to his own. "I was the one making an effort to hang out with you! And you…” her eyes flick down but not before he sees the hurt. “You said no without a second thought.”

Lance shrugs, faintly remembering the time she asked him to stargaze with her. The event was stuffed to the back of his mind to make room for the anticipation of casting magic, yet it now burns in the forefront of his thoughts. _Have I been acting irrationally?_ he wants to ask himself. The more Pidge talks the more he realises that maybe, just maybe, he had been in the wrong. Still, he pushes the guilt he feels down. Loneliness isn’t something that's forgotten easily.

"Don't tell me you haven't been mooning over Keith since he got here. _Oh Keith, you're so good at navigating! Oh Keith, you're so cool with your swords and emo mullet!"_ His voice goes to a higher pitch to imitate Pidge, before he winces, realising how rude his words came across. "Sorry, that was mean."

Scoffing, Pidge looks at Lance with an affronted expression. "Why are you so _mean_ to Keith? He's done nothing wrong."

_Besides from attacking me before we even met?_ The prince thinks sarcastically. 

"I don't know if you've realised, but that elf _hates me._ Like seriously hates me."

Pidge flinches. "I... Keith has had a tough past. Don't take it personally."

"There! Exactly!" With his other (free) hand, Lance gestures expectantly. "You're always taking his side! It's always you and him against me. Nothing I say matters."

“You’re kidding me, right?” Ripping her hand away from his, an offended expression dons Pidge’s face. Her face contorts into something Lance can’t quite recognise. “Of course what you say matters,” she says.

“I know that!” It comes out sharper than he intended but before he can apologize, Pidge is already speaking. 

“Well you don’t act like it!” 

Her words hold a sharp truth to them as they echo across the clearing, and no matter how much he wants to, Lance knows if he runs, they’ll just follow him. 

He doesn’t answer. How can he? Pidge’s never… she’s never shouted like that before. Never at him.

He… he needs to fix this. They can’t go on fighting and ignoring each other (even though he was the only one doing the latter.) Their fighting will affect their mission. 

But that’s not the reason they need to make up. He doesn’t want to admit it, but…

“Why?” Pidge asks again, her voice barely above a whisper. _Why are you acting like this_ , she doesn’t say. _What’s changed?_

Clenching his fists, he looks past her. If he didn’t acknowledge Pidge, maybe she wouldn’t judge him.

“I’m afraid of losing you.” Lance says softly, as if it's a secret he doesn't want to share. “Like, Keith is your best friend! He knows you more than I’ll ever and he’s just… I dunno. I’ll never be able to compare." His voice is raw, unfiltered.

It's almost embarrassing that he has to say it out loud. Truth be told, Lance is used to always being second best. As a child. As a prince. The only one that had ever put him first was his mum, and look where she was. To say that he feels inferior to a freaking elf with a mullet of all people! It's pathetic. 

He watches as the lines around Pidge's eyes soften in understanding. "You don't have to compare to Keith. I... it isn't a competition. He's someone I've known since we were practically babies but..." she stares directly into his eyes, a gesture Lance would normally find uncomfortable but now he felt nothing but safe. "You're my friend too. And even if we haven't known each other for years, I'd consider you one of my best friends."

Lance's eyes widen. Something tepid burns in his belly, fiery and ever-consuming.

“Pidge, I--” He trails off, shocked by her admission. Gulping, Lance swallows harshly. I didn't realise.” It’s a poor excuse, so he amends, “You’re my best friend too.”

“You don’t have to be jealous, you know?” Lance winces at ‘jealous,’ but he lets Pidge continue. “I won't leave you.”

A smile spreads across his face, a stark contrast to his anger only a few minutes prior.. “Thank you,” he whispers, and then louder, “And I won’t leave you either.”

A zephyr blows in between them. Light tendrils of a waifish breeze brushes past Pidge’s hair, making her bangs frame her face in a way that’s… sweet. 

Yeah, sweet. Totally sweet.

“We’ve come so far,” Pidge says, a reminiscent half-smile painted on her face. “Just a few movements ago you couldn’t stand me.”

It takes Lance a couple seconds to remember that movements is elven for weeks. But when he does, his once-pained expression morphs into something mimicking Pidge’s more closely. He chuckles softly, memories flashing past his eyes.

“Pot, kettle,” he replies, “I was so sure you’d try to kill me or something.”

Pidge lets out a startled laugh, her eyes growing wide in mirth. Her face twists in an expression that Lance recognises so easily -- her button-like nose scrunches up, and he feels his face flame. 

“Thank the stars you got over that dumb prejudice of elves otherwise I might have.”

Lance shoots her a smile, not doubting her words at all.

“Whatever you say, _princess.”_

Jaw dropping, Pidge’s eyes go wide with mortification. A furious flush overtakes her face, turning her pale skin strawberry red from the tips of her ears down to her cheeks. “I told you that in confidence!” She shrieks, hitting him on the arm rather harshly, yet there’s no fire behind the blow. 

“And I’m _confident_ that it’s a cute nickname for you,” Lance says in an attempt to be suave. By Pidge’s humoured expression, he already knows that it didn’t work. His flirting _never_ worked-

_Wait._ Was that what he was doing? _Flirting?_ WIth _Pidge?!_

No, it was just some friendly banter between close friends. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Yet the thought of Pidge returning his flirtations, that...

...that doesn’t scare him. _Not anymore._

“Whatever you say, birdy.” The Moonshadow elf quips back, her words always lashing on time with his. It's like a game, really, how their banter goes. Pidge says something, he replies with a dumb remark, and then she meets him word for word. They talk as if they haven’t been fighting for weeks.

“H _e_ y!” Lance shrieks, then winces when he hears his voice crack. “I’m not a bird! If anything, I’d be a lion”

Snorting (and how _adorable_ Pidge looks when her nose scrunches up like that), she grins in a way that’s scarily reminiscent of Hunk right before he’s about to tell a dumb pun. “That’s fitting, considering how lazy you are.”

Lance’s jaw drops, feeling utterly betrayed, then scoffs, faux-affronted. Falling back into his and Pidge’s natural banter is exhilarating and familiar, almost as if he’s a fish returning back into the sea.

“I can’t believe you’ve done this,” he says, with all fondness and no bite behind it.

Humming, Pidge shoots him a sly look. 

“You’re an idiot,” she smiles fondly.

Lance smiles back. “Yeah, but I’m _your_ idiot.” 

It’s only then that Lance realises how _close_ his face is to her’s. At this distance he can see every detail of her face, from the light golden ring that circled her iris to the faint, barely-there spattering of freckles across her cheeks. Pidge gazes up at him, her almost half-foot shorter height painfully evident as Lance has to look down at her. He’s barely noticed how close their bodies are; he can practically feel heat radiate from her torso. 

She looks…

... _beautiful._

And somehow, that thought doesn’t surprise him. It isn’t the first time he realises, but it’s the first time he’s let his thoughts free. 

Hammering against his chest, his heart beats too loudly, too erratically. He barely notices Pidge’s fingers entwined with his own, pulling him in closer and closer. Her breath hitches in her throat, and he swears his skin feels a bit tighter, a bit warmer. Before Lance knows it he’s leaning down, eyes half closed, barely a centimeter away from her lips and--

_“Pidge?!”_

Jumping away from each other, Lance recoils as if he’s been burned. Phantom touches linger on his skin, scalding deep into his bones. Horror, followed by embarrassment dawns across his face -- he’s no doubtedly sporting a cherry-red blush just like Pidge was.

Somehow, _somehow,_ Keith stood between the edge of the clearing, body half-concealed by an unsuspecting birch tree. His purple eyes were wide, pupils blown as he stared with clear shock written all over his face. 

_Goddammit._

“What… what are you guys doing..?" The elf asks, a suspicious note leaking into his confusion.

_“Nothing!”_ Both Pidge and Lance shouted at the same time. Lance turns to Pidge but as he caught her eye, they both whipped away with a renewed flush. 

_“O_ kay,” Keith says, dragging out the ‘o.’ “I’m just gonna, uh,” he pointed his thumb behind him and turned tail, rushing off quicker than Lance had ever seen him run.

“Wait- Keith!” Pidge hand shoots out, and with a quick look over her shoulder she runs after her fellow elf, leaving Lance in the clearing.

Alone.

_Again._

He brings his hand up to his cheek, brushing the spot where Pidge held him. It _burns,_ fiery hot yet not as painful as the emptiness that cocoursesursed through his veins. 

_Of course_ Keith would interrupt them. When did things ever go right for him? When would someone ever choose _him_ first?

Lance stares at the clearing where Pidge had disappeared through, the weight of the situation slowly sinking on him. Did… did he ruin their friendship? He _wants_ to say no but the way Pidge ran off left a sour taste in his mouth. 

Is she disgusted by him?

  
  
Does she… did she feel embarrassed by him? 

Lance wouldn’t be surprised if she is. What was he? A bastard step-prince, a blight on conventional magic? Always second best, never excelling in anything? 

No. _No._ PIdge isn’t like that. She likes him. She almost kissed him!

Holy quiznak, she almost kissed _him!_

And now she’s gone. And…

Something wet glazes Lance’s eyes. Something inside him says that he’s messed up, completely and utterly ruined his friendship with Pidge. 

_Oh quiznak..._

** ༄༅ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops. Betcha didn't see this coming >:)
> 
> Fun fact: half of this chapter wasn't supposed to exist. I accidentally wrote off plan, but thanks to Rosie's amazing ideas we rolled with it. 13k later, here it is.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! If you can, please leave a comment and kudos! Reading comments always motivate us to write more! <3
> 
> As always, next chapter will be brought to you by Rosie. Sit tight, because the next chapter will definitely be a doozy.
> 
> [Ashka's Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/ashkazora) | [Rosie's Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/rosieclark)

**Author's Note:**

> alt. title: take a shot every time hunk/lance says 'bro' 
> 
> That's chapter one! We hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a kudos and comment if you can <3
> 
> [Ashka's Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/ashkazora) | [Rosie's Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/rosieclark)


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